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1 


^ * ’‘V • ’ 

UNCLE PHIL 

A NOVEL / 


BY 

MRS. JOHN M. CLAY 

Author of “What Will the World Say,” “Only a 
Woman,” and “ Some Little of the 
Angel Still Left.” 


“Pleasure is evil’s chief bait; the body the principal calamity of 
the soul ; and those thoughts which most separate it and take it from 
the affections of the body most enfranchise and purify it.’’— Pfafo. 

SECOND AND REVISED EDITION 



PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

Condon NEW YORK montrcal 





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THE LIBRARY OF 
C0N6RESS, 

Two Copies Recciveo 

APR, 13 1901 

COPymOMT* SHTRY 

Cl^Silt^o. No. 

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Copyright, 1901, 

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MRS. JOHN M. CLAY. 


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BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 


Mrs. John M. Clay is a Eentuchian, the daughter of 
Col. Bussell, who was well known in his day. In her 
girlhood she accompanied her father on various excur- 
sions, so that she began to see and understand life almost 
as soon as she opened her eyes. She early went to Cali- 
fornia, where she met and married Col. Eugene Erwin, a 
grandson of Henry Clay, who was killed during the Civil 
War at Vicksburg. Returning later to Kentucky, she 
met and eventually married John M. Clay, the youngest 
and only surviving son of Henry Clay. The great orator 
had been fond of blooded stock, a taste which his son 
inherited. Mrs. Clay shared in this taste and, under 
her husband's tutelage, became an expert stock farmer. 
After his death, she carried on at Ashland, which her 
husband had inherited from Henry Clay, his celebrated 
thoroughbred stock fa/rm with increasing success. 

Mrs. Clay has been devoted not only to stock farming, 
but also to literature. She has thought much and writ- 
ten not a little during these years and one result is this 
volume. UNCLE PHIL shows an insight and an out- 
sight which entitle it to public consideration, especially 
as a view of the Old South, now fast fading into history. 

THE PUBLISHERS. 



CONTENTS 


Chapter. 

I. Fair and Free is the King’s Highway, . . 7 

II. Let the Justice of the King Pass By, . I8 

III. An Infant Terrible, ...... 30 

IV. A Mussel Stew, 37 

V. The Bal Militaire, 54 

VI. David and Jonathan, 75 

VII. Tea Drinking, 85 

VIII. “I Will be True to You Till I Die,” . . 97 

IX. Troubled Waters, Ill 

X. An Omen 121 

XI. The Waters of Marah, 128 

XII. Azrael, 146 

XIII. The Iron Collar, 164 

XIV. “Sorrow’s Crown of Sorrows,” . . . 175 

XV. “Me TER BE Whoopped ! ” 188 

XVI. “A Little Cloud out of the Sea Like a 

Man’s Hand, 199 

XVII. The Bishop of Mobile, 216 

XVIII. The Old Lover En Scene, 226 

XIX. Carrying the Dispatch, .... 240 

XX. Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory of the Lord, 262 


UNCLE PHIL 


CHAPTEE I. 

FAIR AND FREE IS THE KING’S HIGHWAY. 

“Keep your heart as light as you can, 

An ounce of care killed a man.” 

The inhabitants, which are mostly of the Spanish 
race, of the peaceful little city of Bonito, are in the 
enjoyment of the post-meridian siesta. 

There are exceptions, however, for, standing in the 
corridor of an ancient adobe building — its flagstaff, 
from which floats the American flag, proclaims its 
official character — and fronting the pier, for Bonito 
has a seaport, are three young people: sister and 
brothers, as evidenced by the strong resemblance 
they bear one to another; cast in the same generous 
mold, with the same upright carriage, lofty poise of 
head, and noble, flnely chiseled features. The girl 
is young, not eighteen, and her brothers only a few 
years older. 

These young people, contemplating a fishing ex- 
cursion, are busily engaged selecting hooks and 
lines from a large assortment, filling a good-sized 
box ; that is, Miss Geraldine Southampton has the 

7 


8 


UNCLE PHIL. 


matter in hand with an arbitrariness that does not 
allow a different opinion to emanate from either of 
the young men, had they one, which most likely they 
had not, for the young lady’s manner clearly indi- 
cated that she knew what she was about. Her quick 
fingers soon filled a small basket with all she deemed 
needed; then she announced in a voice distinctly 
clear and musical, though tinctured with an imperi- 
ous ring, such as the fortunate individual, male or 
female, unused to contradiction, will naturally 
acquire: ^^Now, South and Fred, we are ready, 
and we are going to fish for fish on the briny deep — 
every mother’s son of us.” 

This questionable piece of witticism receives 
plaudits beyond its merits, and the three of them 
begin their walk toward the mole. At its steps lies 
a small boat, manned by two oarsmen of widely 
differing places of birth. Uncle Phil, the first in im- 
portance, was a ^^cullered pusson,” as he himself 
stated with distinctness and frequency, leaving no 
room for a reasonable doubt. Also that he first 
saw the light of day in ^Wirginny” was a circum- 
stance of no inconsiderable pride to him, and was 
superfluously commented on; at least such was the 
opinion entertained by those who enjoyed his ac- 
quaintance. The other boatman was a Hawaiian, 
and per consequence, known as ^^Kanaka Jack.” 

The distance to be traversed was short, and, the 
young lady placing herself between her brothers. 


UNCLE PHIL. 


9 


they started, but she soon about-faced, preferring 
to progress the backward way, as the opportunity 
was thus afforded of carrying on her conversation 
face to face. This conversation, or rather mono- 
logue, for such was its character, was animated and 
joyous until the very brink of the unbaluster ed mole 
was reached. Here she folded her hands, and, poising 
on the tip of a well-made French boot, executed a 
pirouette. The time consumed in this performance 
was short, yet long enough to effect a marked 
change in the temper of Miss Southampton. 

^Which of you did it?’’ she demanded sharply. 

Simultaneously, the brothers glancing over their 
shoulders, understood the situation. 

‘Tt was not me,” promptly asserted the younger 
brother, called Fred, ungrammatical in the eager- 
ness of his denial. 

The elder brother looked confused, thereby con- 
fessing guilt. The angry young lady went on viva- 
ciously: ^What do you mean, Southampton? We 
were going to have such a comfortable afternoon; 
and you have spoiled it all. Caramba !’^ 

‘^Sister,” said the offender apologetically, ‘T did 
not invite Mr. Hamilton, indeed I did not. He 
chanced to be passing when I told Jack to have the 
boat in readiness, and to put a rug in, as you were 
going out on the bay with us. And when he said, he 
believed he would go along with us, of course, I 
couldn’t tell him he was not wanted.” This was 


UNCLE PHIL. 


la 

said in an undertone, and meant for Miss South- 
ampton’s private ear, and as a suggestion that so- 
cial amenities should ever rise superior to such 
trifles as personal animosities. The appeal for pax 
Miss Southampton trampled under foot, and she 
answered, raising her voice, and changing her post- 
ure so as to let the full force of an uncompromis- 
ing glance of displeasure rest upon the newcomer, 
whose appearance being perfectly correct and of 
the genus gentilhomme, does not seem to warrant 
such a display of hostility : ^^Of course you couldn’t ! 
Not having a tongue in your head !” 

To come to the gist of the matter, the weakness 
to love where one should not is a common frailty, 
or a common attribute. Who cares for the willing 
peach just to your hand? The one that is high up 
and difficult to get is the desirable one. And the 
head and front of this Mr. Hamilton’s offending 
was a fortuitous fondness for the good-looking 
young lady which led him on to persistency of at- 
tentions after she had in the most unreserved man- 
ner indicated that she wanted none of him. But he 
had heard about faint heart, etc., and being of a 
determined, not to say obstinate, disposition, he de- 
termined to persevere and take his chance for a 
rosier future, utterly ignoring rebuffs. So, not 
choosing to see Miss Geraldine Southampton’s 
black looks, he constrained himself to say quite 
cheerfully: am just in time not to be too late.” 


UNCLE UHIL. 


11 


With a laudable effort to pour oil on the troubled 
waters, the brother who had been called Southamp- 
ton said, in a propitiatory tone : ‘^Come, sister, let 
me help you down.” 

am not going,” she said shortly, “and it is very 
provoking,” looking the late arrival full in the face, 
“to have my fishing party spoiled by this intrusion.” 

The brothers remained silent, but exchanged com- 
ical looks, as they passed down the steps and seated 
themselves in the boat; then came the invitation: 
“Jump in. Hammy.” 

“I have changed my mind, and decided not to go,” 
replied Mr. Hamilton. 

The little boat is quickly pulled out of the dark 
green waters contiguous to the mole, and is danc- 
ing merrily over the short cross waves of the ground- 
swell. 

“Hasta luego,” said the brothers, raising their 
hats to their sister, and being good-hearted young 
gentlemen, they bestow upon her companion a nil 
desperandum look. Then brother Fred exemplifies 
the deceitful nature of a man^s heart by indulging 
in an unsympathizing laugh before remarking: “I 
rather think Hammy will be favored with a round, 
unvarnished tale.” 

“WhaFs the use of a man making a fool of him- 
self?” was the free comment of the other, while se- 
lecting a line to drop over into the bay. “And,” con- 
tinued the young philosopher, “when it is estab- 


12 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


lished beyond a doubt that the moon is not to be had 
for illuminating purposes why can’t one be content- 
ed with a serviceable bull’s-eye lantern?” 

Miss Southampton barely takes time to give 
^^Hammy” a scornful look before she, rudely turn- 
ing her back, starts homeward. 

The infatuated young man will not be warned — 
in such cases though one were to rise from the dead 
to discourage a forward movement, it would be un- 
availing — and after a moment’s hesitation, he is 
at her side. 

Her angry looks become angrier. So far this 
young lady has scarcely had a crumpled roseleaf to 
pass over, and that useful virtue, patience, is not in- 
herent, nor has she yet acquired it, nor has it been 
necessary. Her pleasure, like the ‘^je le veux” of 
Louis XIV., had been the recognized law, and with- 
out the foreshadowing of evil times to come, which 
extorted from the monarch the woeful : “Apres vous 
le deluge.” 

There is silence for a very short minute, then the 
young lady, facing her companion, said abruptly: 
“I have a word to say to you.” 

^^It would give me pleasure to listen to a great 
many words from you,” was the polite response. 

Her brown eyes flashed, and without the prelim- 
inaries of an accomplished fencer going through a 
series of courteous salutes while promising himself 
the pleasure of running his adversary through, she 


UNCLE PHIL. 


13 


raised her rapier, so to speak, and commenced hos- 
tilities of the most energetic character. “I would 
prefer not to be compelled to speak to you at all, 
and I will be brief and to the point. Without at- 
tempting to explain my aversion to you, it has been 
apparent to the meanest understanding, and had 
you the faintest conception of what belongs to the 
organization of a gentleman when you saw that at- 
tentions from you were disagreeable to me, you 
would have ceased them. But instead of that in- 
contestably proper conduct what should you do — I 
have not been blind ! — but go to work systematically 
to ingratiate yourself with Mrs. Southampton in 
order to afford you opportunities for your odious 
persecutions, when the very sight of you is hateful 
to me. I tell you now,” she continued impetuously, 
^^you must change your course, or I will complain to 
my brothers — and when I do,” with emphasis, ‘^you 
will be tossed into the bay.” 

The dull red that suffused his face alone showed 
how the girPs scorn had touched him, though he 
replied with immovable calmness: 

think I might be able to prevent such a watery 
taking off. I am no Hotspur, but no one can tell 
what sword is in the scabbard till it is drawn — and 
the brothers might come to grief.” 

She laughed. The idea seemed to amuse her. ^^It 
is so supremely ridiculous,” said she, ^ffhe warning 
that you might injure South or Fred. Why, they 


14 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


are men, while you are so contemptible — that I have 
no name for yon.’^ 

Had the young girl been wise she wou^d have seen 
the dangerous light that shone in the gray eyes op- 
posite to her, and paused before recklessly defying 
a demon born of a despised man’s bad passions. It 
had been well for her could she have looked into 
futurity and asked herself the question, how was 
she prepared to resist in a deadly combat? Of what 
avail would be her honest, open, childishly passion- 
ate cut and thrust against the thirsty blade that 
merely parried; yet always creeping closer and 
closer until the moment served to overleap her 
guard and effect its certain work of destruction. 

Just so was the hapless Marie Antoinette all un- 
conscious of danger ; and rather than make conces- 
sions to Jaques bon homme would prefer being 
sent to the tower for two months. And her flippant 
speech when told that the people had no bread, 
^^Why, then, let them live on cake,” was awful in its 
recoil. The beast she had trodden under foot rose 
supreme over the ancient dynasty and inaugurated 
its own Reign of Terror, and the Queen’s proud head 
was sent to the guillotine. 

Meanwhile, strike up the music ! — ^vive la dance 
— fare gayly along until surprised by the hand-writ- 
ing on the wall. There is time enough later on to 
bring in the death’s head at the feast. 

Hamilton stood quite still after her insulting 


UNCLE PHIL. 


15 


words, and suffered her to walk away, then he re- 
peated in a low, quivering tone, every muscle of his 
face working with rage : ^^Contemptible, am I ? You 
have gone too far, my young princess. Before your 
time bona fide sovereigns have been compelled to 
abdicate and grovel at the mercy of the victor. Suc- 
cess is promised to those who can wait. I can wait, 
and perhaps I, too, may laugh — and laugh last.” 

As the crow flies, the distance was short that lay 
between Miss Southampton and her home, but that 
versatile young lady was not in the humor to con- 
fine herself to straight mathematical lines. And she 
stayed her progress to deliver a fluent lecture to 
some Spanish muchachos who were fishing for ta- 
rantulas — which could be seen in all their ugliness 
moving low down among the damp timbers support- 
ing the little pier — on the pursuit of so ignoble a 
pastime. Then she, very meritoriously, assisted 
an old woman who had dropped her basket and scat- 
tered the pine cones she was carrying home to boil 
her kettle, and she impressed two naval officers of 
high degree, who had just been rowed to the shore 
from their ship, in the same charitable work, despite 
their evident reluctance, and would not allow them 
to desist until the very last cone was picked up, and 
she laughed so merrily, when they glanced ruefully 
at their soiled gloves, that they went on their way 
discomfited. Her attention then was directed to 
a squad of raw recruits a drill-sergeant had brought 


16 


UNCLE PHIL. 


down from the fort; they had set up a regimental 
target on the beach for ball-practice. Seeing their 
awkwardness, the capable Miss Southampton took 
them in charge, and her instructions were so lucid, 
and illustrated by some splendid shots, that the 
non-commissioned officer gazed at her in open- 
mouthed wonder, and one of the squad, an Irish- 
man, declared with national gallantry: ^^It is me- 
self that could stand here till the crack of doom, 
without mate or drink, watching of the swate young 
leddy.’’ 

She next took in an awning under which some 
sailors — allowed on shore for the purpose — sat 
mending sails, and she returned their salutations. 
^^An’ please mum, we would wish you a good arter- 
noon,” with a politeness more gracious than she 
would have shown to their officers. With evident 
interest she observed the stitching done by their 
leather-sheathed fingers, and told them that they 
were doing their work very well. These men were 
rough, the scrapings of their different nationali- 
ties, yet from this hour, in which Colonel South- 
ampton’s daughter had gone out of her way to speak 
to them a few words of genuine kindness, they felt 
something less of bitterness toward their betters, 
and that ‘ffhe quality was not all agin us, and pity 
there ain’t more like her.” 

A few more minor meetings and greetings, en- 
gagements for rides and drives, dances, and so on,j 


UNCLE PHIL. 


17 


bring her to the corridor she had so lately quitted, 
and where now stands a man singularly handsome, 
and so apparently young, that it is a matter for sur- 
prise when Miss Geraldine Southampton, in the 
exuberance of her spirits, dances rather than walks 
up to him, and calls him papa. Then in the glad- 
ness of her fresh, young heart she dances backward 
to the extreme verge of the open corridor and rests 
there poised on one foot. 

Her father’s loving glances rest upon her without 
a shade of uneasiness. It were as well to fear a bird 
might fall, so free and graceful is every movement 
of that lithe, winsome body. 

She is above the average height of women, but 
formed in the perfection of symmetry. Her clear, 
sparkling eyes and the brilliant hue of her com- 
plexion are due to robust health, but the ever-chang- 
ing expression of her mobile features come from an 
immortal, indwelling beauty, irresistible. 


18 


UNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTEE II. . 

LET THE JUSTICE OF THE KING PASS BY. 

“Curious fool, be still! 

Is buman love the growth of human will?” 

Colonel Southampton is a Virginian, and indeli- 
bly stamped on his forehead are the cabalistic let- 
ters F. F. V. Many years previous his large estates 
had been swallowed up by the too ardent support of 
a political friend who failed in his election. Find- 
ing himself in the position of a financially ruined 
man he willingly accepted the office of consul to 
this far-away place. The expatriation, as it seemed, 
was accepted with greater willingness, allured by 
the hope that a change of climate would restore to 
health his invalid wife. Administration succeeded 
administration without the loss of his post. And 
when by the treaty of Guadaloupe Hidalgo Califor- 
nia became one of the United States the office of 
consul lapsed and the genial, popular, gentleman 
was appointed collector of customs. Thus almost 
all the years of his daughter’s life had been passed, 
as it were, under the immediate guardianship of 
the American flag ; and well she loved its beautiful 
stars and stripes. 

Life’s pleasures which are often grudgingly be- 


UNCLE PHIL. 


19 


stowed, and like angePs visits come so few and far 
between, had been showered down upon this girl 
as from an overturned cornucopia. 

To her father and brothers she was an object of 
idolatry; of the fetich worship of Uncle Phil, the 
faithful servant who voluntarily had left kith and 
kin to follow the broken fortunes of her father’s 
house; of praise and flattery, to injurious excess, 
from the resident grandees who had watched the 
lovely child grow up ^^como nosotras and of many 
of the naval and army officers of her own country, 
besides the naval officers of almost every nationality 
whose ships had touched in at that golden port. 
Small wonder then that her face should wear the 
joyous gleams of a spirit unacquainted with misfor- 
tune and sorrow. 

Something of a pang — perhaps not the first — 
smote the heart of Colonel Southampton as he 
marked the radiant being before him. What if sor- 
rows should befall her — the slightest one he would 
die to avert. How could she bear them? 

His face clouded — an unpleasant duty was before 
him. He sighed. 

^^Come here, Gerry, I have news for you.” 

The young princess clasping her hands, and with 
a spring almost as artistic as Helarios, bounded to 
her father’s side. 

^^Now, don’t be vexed,” he said soothingly. 
wouldn’t tell you until the last moment, but 


20 


UNCLE PHIL. 


plunging in medias res, “Southampton and Frederic 
are to leave us in the morning, in the Arrow, for 
China.” 

“Those boys are going to do nothing of the sort ! 
I am not going to allow it !” she said imperiously. 

“Listen, my own pet,” was the grave answer. 
“Your brothers are men now, and it is high time for 
them to engage in the commercial enterprises of 
men. This is a good opening for them. They must 
begin to make money for my Gerry. I have been 
doing little else all my life than spending. I am a 
poor man.” 

A bright flush suffused her face. 

“Papa ! papa !” she exclaimed impetuously, “Oh, 
why did you not tell me this before? It is I who 
have been spending all your money! Mrs. South- 
ampton says” — she suddenly stopped, embarrassed. 

The present Mrs. Southampton was not her moth- 
er, of whom she had scarcely any remembrance, her 
place had been so soon fllled by the handsome wid- 
ower. But the fair young bride inherited delicacy 
of constitution, and after enjoying to the full a short 
season of post-nuptial gayeties — beyond her 
strength— succumbed to feelings of lassitude, pass- 
ing her days on a sofa. Her only occupation was 
reading novels. The further indulgence of a nightly 
potion to induce slumber quickly became a habit. 

Colonel Southampton had never been ill in his 
life, never so much as to feel “a little under the 


UNCLE PHIL. 


21 


weather,” and how was it possible for him to under- 
stand hypochondria, that very subtle malady which 
coils round its victim and so successfully counter- 
feits every form of human suffering? That she fre- 
quently thought herself to be at the point of death 
was a stretch of her imagination too intrinsically 
ridiculous to excite sympathy. And small wonder 
that Colonel Southampton was soon forced to ad- 
mit to himself that he, too, like Sinbad the Sailor, 
was burdened with an Old Man of the Sea. And it 
did not help the matter much that his equestrian 
was an invalid wife, whose peevish exactions were 
none the less hard to bear that they must impera- 
tively be born in uncomplaining silence. His chil- 
dren, loving and admiring their brilliant father, 
regarded ^^Mrs. Southampton” with extreme dis- 
favor, and in the endeavor to live as though she 
were not, adhered as much as was possible to the 
non- intercourse system; easy enough, as the lady 
seldom left her own apartments. And, oh, the pity 
of it ! With all the inflexible strength of a weak 
nature she hated the young people living under the 
same roof; the sight of the health, youth and beau- 
ty, which had forever departed from her, exciting 
emotions of the bitterest resentment and envy. 

was going to say, papa,” continued Miss Ger- 
aldine, ^ffhat it is quite useless to import my gowns, 
gloves and boots. I have never thought much about 
.\t! But I must be a dreadful expense to you--- 


22 


UNCLE PHIL. 


everything costs so high. My petticoats are made 
here, but they are seventy-five dollars apiece, and 
they are not embroidered up so very high. Just 
see,” she said, raising her dress-skirt and gazing re- 
fiectively at the delicately embroidered white drap- 
eries. 

have no doubt, Gerry, that your petticoats are 
perfectly correct,” answered Colonel Southampton, 
not availing himself of the inspection invited, ‘^and 
I have no fault to find with your clothes, which are 
exactly such as Miss Southampton should wear.” 

should be Miss Southampton in any clothes,” 
she replied, giving a backward toss to her handsome 
head. ^^And, papa,” she added wistfully, ‘ Vhy must 
Southampton and Frederic go away from us? Why 
cannot we stay together — and work together?” 

^^What kind of work could you engage in, Gerry?” 
he asked with a smile. 

^^Well,” she answered, her face fiushing, ^^that is 
not a question to be answered on the spur of the 
moment. Though I have a voice and could sing in 
concerts if I were not a Southampton. And, but 
for the same excellent reason, I could dance in 
public, to earn my share of the family bread. Also,” 
throwing back her fiowing, silken sleeve, and look- 
ing with approval at the round, firm, dimpled arm, 
could execute almost anything that required mus- 
cle. But,” her face became radiant, a practical idea 
had hashed to the surface, ‘T can write in your 


UNCLE PHIL. 


23 


office ! I write a better hand than either South or 
Fred — you know I do !” 

^^Yes, I do know so,” he answered, and seeing the 
pretty pleading on her face, he wished to give her 
a pleasure. ^^Suppose you go now — the clerks are 
all gone — and write a clearance for the schooner 
Andromache carrying eight hundred tons burden. 
I am going now to meet an old friend I am ex- 
pecting to arrive, whom I have not seen since our 
college days, when we roomed together. And I be- 
speak for him your good graces.” 

Feeling the perfect satisfaction, growing out of 
being useful to one she loved, like a fawn she sped 
to the apartment now closed, office hours being over. 
The room of itself was not attractive, desks and 
stools its only furniture, but the young lady was 
never happier in her life. The idea that she was 
about to transact business was positively bewitch- 
ing. She could not keep her joy to herself, it had 
to be vocalized. ‘^Ah !” she exclaimed, exultingly, 
^ffiow happy are those who work — hard! — hard! 
every day of their lives.” 

The divine edict pronounced against our first par- 
ent Adam when driven out of that fair garden with 
its ^Tour rivers to water every tree that had been 
planted, pleasant to look at and good for fruit,” has 
been in operation nearly six thousand years. Some 
have caviled at it. Others have said it was a bless- 
ing in disguise, but to Colonel Southampton’s 


24 


UNCLE PHIL. 


daughter was reserved the privilege of being the 
first to sing a paean in its praise. 

She seated herself .quickly, pulling up to her the 
huge Government inkstand with its bristling array 
of pens. Then the Form Book was opened, and in 
the glory of her enthusiasm she determined to spare 
no pains, and that this particular document should 
be the most elaborately handsome of any that had 
ever gone forth from any Custom House. She would 
execute with her pen an American eagle with its 
claws full of arrows hovering over the top of the 
page, and illuminate the capital letters in red ink. 
But one moments refiection suggested that, artistic 
and unique as it certainly would be, it would 
be open to the criticism of not being plain business ; 
and she promptly decided to do the work in a work^ 
manlike manner, even to eschew fiourishes. 

In the frame of mind when one’s work is always 
best done, the head and heart in unison, she began 
the paper by which under the revenue laws of the 
United States the schooner Andromache with her 
eight hundred tons burden was permitted to weigh 
anchor and vamose the harbor. For some moments 
she wrote on industriously, then with pardonable 
pride she paused to admire her handiwork, which 
was indeed admirable. Not in the least like the in- 
distinct chirography of most fine ladies, resembling 
the aimless wanderings of an intoxicated fiy; but 


UNCLE PHIL. £5 

firm, well-formed characters, beautiful to see and 
beautiful to read. 

At her back was an open window, through which 
streamed the sun’s r?ys — silent, potent rays, la- 
dened with odylic fluid — passing back and forth, 
over and around her — noiseless, invisible, mysteri- 
ous forces, actively weaving their wondrous tissues 
and indissolubly uniting her life with that of an- 
other life, standing in the doorway. 

Henceforth, for weal or woe, the influence of these 
two lives, one over the other, is cemented inde- 
structibly, till death ; till the dark river which rolls 
all around the world is passed — perhaps beyond. 
Under the influence of this cosmical power the girl 
trembled, conscious that some new, all-powerful 
feeling was about to possess her. She looked up. 

A man, certainly older than her father, had en- 
tered the room. His rugged features were grave 
even to sternness. Not a person to incommode, was 
written in legible characters from head to foot. The 
self-confldence of his bearing denoted a man who 
was all and all to his own requirements. 

The diffidence usual in accosting strangers of the 
opposite sex was out of the experience of Miss 
Southampton. Men of every age and degree had 
gone down before her without the least hesitation, 
without the slightest protest. But there was some- 
thing disconcerting in this new-comer’s steady 
gaze ; yet never was a Southampton born to blench. 


26 


UNCLE PHIL. 


and she demanded, anthoritatively : ^^Did you not 
see that the flag was down, and that office hours 
were over?” 

am not on official business,” said he, slightly 
raising his hat. called to see Colonel South- 
ampton.” 

“My father is out, and I cannot tell you where 
you will probably find him.” 

“I think I will wait for him here,” replied the 
gentleman, taking a seat. 

“I am writing,” said she sharply. 

“Pray go on,” was the answer, “you will not dis- 
turb me.” 

Miss Southampton felt a new sensation. She 
was accustomed to men losing their heads about 
her — and was probably not averse to it — and here- 
was an infidel bringing no flowers to her altar. 
Mutely she raised her eyes as if to enquire why a 
fragment of the rather roughly plastered ceiling 
did not detach itself and fall down to crush him. 
And why she refrained from telling him that he 
was disturbing her, and request his absence, was 
the perplexing question. She was under the spell 
of some strange, new, compelling influence, and 
chafed under it. 

With heightened color, and without a word, she 
recommenced her writing; but the usually facile 
pen became an awkward stick — it was impossible 
to write with that glum man looking on, and he 


uncle PHIL. 


must be got rid of. She was wholly unaccustomed 
to sue, and it was with an obvious effort that she 
suggested, persuasively : 

^‘You might smoke a cigar in the corridor while 
waiting.” 

“I do not care to smoke, and will wait where I 
am,” he answered with decision. 

The young lady was fairly frightened. Imagine 
the feelings of a commanding officer who* makes the 
discovery when face to face with an enemy that his 
war material is of bad quality. For one brief mo- 
ment she thinks of flight, then comes the nobler 
reflection that she is a Southampton, and having 
thrown a lance over the enemy’s frontier, could 
neither retreat nor apologize, and if need be must 
die at her post. 

With what intense relief must the general with 
damaged powder have heard the shouts of a support- 
ing army coming to his assistance. Just so felt 
Miss Southampton when her quick ears caught the 
sound of her father’s footsteps. In a moment more 
he had entered the room. 

With exclamations of delight the two men clasped 
hands. Not since leaving William and Mary — a 
quarter of a century had passed — had these college 
chums met. 

In the warmth of their greeting it was some mo- 
ments before Colonel Southampton recollected to 
say : ‘^Ah I here is my little daughter.” 


2 $ 


tNCLia PHIL. 


Query : Why is it, no matter how well -grown a 
girl may he, she is invariably introduced by her 
father after this fashion? 

The introduction was acknowledged by the lady 
with cold dignity; by the gentleman without en- 
thusiasm. 

Miss Southampton measurably recovered from 
her loss of morale (she was not of the sort to stay 
conquered), and, ashamed of her involuntary weak- 
ness, hurriedly, so to speak, brought up her sup- 
ports, dressed her lines, and, eager for aggressive 
action, said curtly : 

^Wou have a name, I suppose?^’ 

^^My name is Smith,” responded the gentleman. 

^^John Smith?” she asked airily. 

^^My Christian name is Paul — if you have any in- 
terest in knowing,” he answered, showing some an- 
noyance. 

The skirmishers had closed in, and there was bat- 
tle in the air ; the young lady clatters up her howit- 
zers. 

^Wes,” she said flippantly, have some interest 
in a certain way — it is de rigueur to acquire gen- 
eral information — and, of course, much trash gets 
mixed in. Evidently your parents were Bible read- 
ers, with a penchant for scriptural names, and I 
congratulate you on not being named Saul, or 
Nehemiah, or Hosea, or Maccabees, or some other of 
the gentle patriarchs, whose lives were more or less 


UNCLE PHIL. 


2 ^ 

edifying, but whose names are lacking in euphony.” 

In all the unpleasant experiences of Samson 
following his entanglement with Delilah nothing 
touched him in the tenderest place until he was 
sent for to make sport for the Philistine lords and 
ladies. Nothing like this had ever happened to Mr. 
Smith before, and in his righteous anger he was go- 
ing to say that, in his opinion, she had mistaken 
the situation. But Colonel Southampton, observing 
with concern that his daughter and his friend were 
not taking to each other, hastened to interpose. He 
was of a sanguine nature, and hoped for better 
things. 

^^Come,” said he, ‘dePs get into more comfortable 
quarters.” 

^‘As for myself, I have that clearance to finish,” 
said Miss Southampton, with gravity. ^^Besides, I 
have no wish to be the terrible third to spoil sport. 
I know you wish to be to yourselves to gloat over 
old times, and to recall the sweet remembrance, 
how pious you were, and the good example you set 
to other students whose inclinations tended to friv- 
olity. I am speaking for my papa.” 

^^Never mind the clearance, Gerry,” answered 
Colonel Southampton, looking at Smith with a 
smile. ^^One of the clerks will finish it. I want you 
with us.” So together they proceeded to that part 
of the building where were the apartments fitted up 
for the family. 


50 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTEK III. 

AN INFANT TERRIBLE. 

“lie who is not hammer is sure to be anvil.” 

It was a cosy parlor into which they entered. 
The lace curtains and the upright piano had been 
brought from Paris, the comfortable bamboo chairs 
from China, the sofa and American rocking chairs 
from Boston, and the nick-nacks from Japan and 
various other parts of the globe — all uniting to 
form that refinement of luxury with which those 
who have pride in pluralizing their ancestors take 
pains to surround themselves. 

The door was left wide open to enjoy a view of 
the beautiful bay; the tide rushing in with a gentle 
pur almost lapped the foundations of the wooden 
corridor. Sometimes the heavy billows from the 
offing thundered in with a tumultuous dash, when 
doors had to be closed to keep out the drenching 
spray. 

Possibly it were better had the doors been closed 
now. A woman carrying a child in her arms could 
not so unceremoniously have entered. 

“Which of you gentlemen is Colonel Southamp- 
ton?” she asked with the directness that denoted 
her visit to be of business, not compliment. 


UNCLE PHIL. 


31 


With inextinguishable politeness, Colonel South- 
ampton rose, bowed, and asked in what way he 
could be of use to her. 

^^Well, sir, you see,” she explained without cir- 
cumlocution, ‘^my husband he ain’t well, he’s been 
puny ever since he got that lance stuck into his 
side at San Pasquale, and I have just come up on 
the Sea Bird from San Luis Obispo to see Captain 
Baxter about getting pay for some beeves used by 
the California Battalion. And as I ain’t so overly 
strong, and that hill going up to the fort is kinder 
steepish, I would like to leave my little son here 
until I get back.” 

^^Certainly, madam,” replied Colonel Southamp- 
ton with fictitious warmth, and, being on slippery 
ground, he struck out boldly: ^^Certainly, my 
daughter will be delighted to entertain the little 
fellow,” he cast an imploring look at Gerry, who, 
scorning to dissemble, said promptly: 

‘^Indeed, I shall do nothing of the sort.” The lady’s 
statement was true concerning the situation of the 
fort. To reach it there was a sharp acclivity to as- 
cend, very fatiguing, particularly to a person car- 
rying a burden. Therefore, though the mother saw 
plainly that her offspring would not be left in ten- 
der hands, yet she w^as aware that the laws of the 
state taking cognizance of his life and limbs, the 
young lady would neither murder nor maim him. 
SO; deftly slipping the child into Colonel Southamp- 


32 


UNCLE PHIL. 


ton’s arms, she walked away as fast as she could 
lay foot to the ground. 

^^Here, Gerry/’ said her father, coaxingly, ^^please 
take him, like a kind, dear, good-hearted girl.” 
shall not do it,” was the undutiful answer. 

Colonel Southampton being a man of the world, 
knew that the best way out of some situations was 
immediate flight, and without more ado, he placed 
the child upon the floor and fled. 

^^Such depravity is shocking,” observed Miss 
Southampton. 

^Would it be out of place in me,” said Mr. Paul 
Smith, ^^to inquire for whom your remark is in- 
tended?” 

This observation is unnoticed, the young lady in- 
tently watching that small specimen of humanity 
writhing on the floor, her face faithfully portraying 
all the gradations of astonishment, aversion, horror 
and despair. 

The infant was at flrst bewildered and quiet, but 
soon realizing his abandoned condition, he began 
howling dismally — shriek after shriek pealed 
through the room. 

Miss Southampton was greatly given to the har- 
boring of flxed ideas, but in this wild uproar all re- 
membrance of the strained relations which had 
characterized her short acquaintance with Mr. 
Smith was obliterated and forgotten. 

Happily there is no law of Congress to compel 


UNCLE PHIL. 


83 


any one to consistency, or where would any of us 
be? 

She even felt drawn toward him as people will 
feel drawn toward those threatened with the in- 
fliction of a common danger — and she made a mo- 
tion as if to invite his assistance for their mutual 
protection. ‘^This is unbearable,” she gasped. 

^^You had better take him up,” he counseled. 

‘‘You are the stronger.” There was entreaty in 
her voice. 

“Yes, I am the stronger,” he assented in a tone 
indicating non-intervention, “but I have heard 
there was something soothing in a woman^s touch 
to young children.” 

“I am not clear in my belief about that. And 
the proper thing to do would be to throw the crea- 
ture into the bay, but I don^t quite like the respon- 
sibility — one would never hear the last of it. Some- 
thing must be done ! The whole town will shortly 
be about our ears ! Peace must be had,” said Miss 
Southampton in staccato-like phrases, while cir- 
cling round the baby, apparently nerving herself for 
some desperate mental and physical effort. 

“You had better take him up head-foremost,” ad- 
vised Mr. Smith, with decision. 

The advice seeming good, she made a vicious 
grab, seizing the fat little body, and began pacing 
the room with rapid and unequal footsteps. The 
terrific screams continued, subsiding only when 


34 


UNCLE PHIL. 


breath failed. Peace had been achieved after much 
sorrow, and with a sigh of relief the young lady 
rested her charge on a table. Standing there, 
though flushed and disheveled, she was very hand- 
some. Mr. Smith thought so, and looked on admir- 
ingly in a disinterested sort of way — when — he al- 
most doubted the evidence of his senses ! With an 
exclamation of anger, the young lady dealt a blow, 
entirely disproportioned to the child’s tender age. 
A blood-curdling yell ensued. “You have bitten me, 
you miserable little wretch !” cried Miss Southamp- 
ton, holding up a Anger, from which welled a drop 
of the crimson fluid. 

The child’s mother had not dallied by the way- 
side, but had made such haste as she could. Her 
interview with Captain Baxter had been brief, and 
most unsatisfactory about remuneration for the 
beeves consumed by Colonel Fremont’s men. 

She was told curtly : “The California Battalion 
was composed of volunteers, and a branch of the 
service he had nothing to do with.” And his man- 
ner was so obviously expressive that he did not want 
to have anything to do with it, and did not intend 
to have anything to do with it, as to cause her great 
mental depression. 

Poor woman! and was there no one to tell her 
that she had as well wave a red flag in the face of 
a short-horned dilemma as to go to a West Pointer 
about any volunteer business? Her anguish of mind 


UNCLE PHIL. 


35 


was mucli augmented on her return just in time to 
witness the discipline bestowed upon her infant 
son. 

With a wild rush she dashed in and picked up 
the baby, which had tumbled to the floor, howling 
dismally. 

^Wou abominable woman!’’ cried Miss South- 
ampton, raising her voice, her indignation excited by 
a sense of her personal wrongs ; “what are you do- 
ing with that child, how dare you bring him here?” 

“I have a husband, madam,” whimpered the wom- 
an irrelevantly. 

“Who cares how many husbands you have?” re- 
plied Miss Southampton, very much excited, and 
quite unmindful that she was attacking the very 
groundwork of the social system. 

No answer was made, the woman, carrying her 
olive branch, departed, weeping bitterly; and no 
doubt believing in her heart, as many a one had 
done before her time, that kindness and justice do 
not lie in a poor person’s way. 

It now occurred to Miss Southampton that her 
companion had been remiss in his duty, and that 
from a safe position of neutrality he had left her 
to struggle alone through the trying scene, giving 
her neither aid nor comfort. 

“Such conduct is atrocious,” she said to him, 
with flashing eyes. 

<Whose conduct,” he asked. 


36 


UNCLE PHIL. 


A cloud of wrath swept over her face, and Mr. 
Paul Smith was left the sole occupant of the room. 

“Eather a spirited young person,” he remarked, 
sotto voce, ‘^but wonderfully handsome, and per- 
haps it is fortunate that her ideas and my ideas do 
not agree.” 


UNCLE PHIL. 


37 


CHAPTEE IV. 

A MUSSEL STEW. 

“Beware, dear girls, beware. 

You had better lead apes — you know where. 

Than ever fall in love.” 

The Arrow has shaken her white wings, and like 
a bird is gliding out of Bonito harbor, carrying with 
her the two young Southamptons. 

This is the first real grief of her life, and Geral- 
dine Southampton stands on the pier, where she 
had parted with her brothers in all the abandon- 
ment of grief. 

Her father is entreating her to be comforted. And 
Uncle Phil is trying to dry his own eyes, while say- 
ing tremulously: ‘^B’ar up. Miss Gerry, b^ar up, 
honey, b’ar up fer de ole Uncle PhiPs sake. Please, 
chile, b^ar up like er good young ^oman — oh, Lordy ! 
Good Gracious! has I los’ my senses? I mean, 
honey, b’ar up like the KunnePs darter.^^ 

Mr. Smith is there, too, but does not join in the 
sympathizing throng by which Miss Southampton 
is surrounded. 

He has seen a good deal of the world, and has 
no difficulty in making up his mind that his old 
friend’s daughter is the worst case of “spoiled” that 


38 


UNCLE PHIL. 


ever came under his observation. ^^And not a par- 
ticularly bad sort, either,” was his mental com- 
ment, she were not surrounded by such an army 
of imbeciles.” 

Miss Southampton’s violent grief subsides, yield- 
ing to the arts of her father. His own distress is 
as nothing if he can console this young creature, 
who represents nearly all his world. ^^The boys 
are gone, Gerry,” he said, soothingly, “and cry- 
ing won’t bring them back. Two or three years will 
soon roll around, and then what a joyful return 
there will be. Meanwhile you have your old dad. 
And I’ll tell you what it is, Gerry, if you do not 
stop weeping this minute, you will make me cry, 
too, which will not be a pleasant on dit to get into 
circulation.” 

There really was so much pathos in his voice that 
his daughter became alarmed. A Southampton 
man shedding tears in public would be an indelible 
disgrace ! And she hastened to say, as well as she 
could between sobs: “I a-m t-r-y-i-n-g t-o c-o-n- 
t-r-o-1 m-y f-e-e-l-i-n-g-s, p-a-p-a, a-n-d I h-a-v-e n-o 
d-o-u-b-t I s-h-a-1-1 s-u-c-c-e-e-d p-r-e-s -e-n-t-l-y.” 

Colonel Southampton is much encouraged. 

“That is my brave little girl,” he said in laudatory 
tones. “And now, Gerry,” in tones still more laud- 
atory, “a party of us are going to the Point. I have 
promised Smith a mussel stew, and won^t you go 
along to make it pleasant for us?” 


UNCLE PHIL. 


39 


Mr. Smith’s appearance does not indicate that 
her presence would add to his pleasure in the least. 

^Tapa,” she answered, solemnly, am never go- 
ing to another mussel stew until those boys re- 
turn.” 

“How will it be about the bal militaire to-mor- 
row?” he asked. 

“Papa,” in the same lachrymose tone, “I am never 
going to a dance of any sort until my brothers re- 
turn.” 

“Oh ! yes you will, Gerry,” said he, coaxingly ; “if 
you desert us, all our little gayeties are at an end.” 

Instantly there was a chorus of clamors that Miss 
Gerry would not reduce the world to despair by 
withdrawing her presence from its festivities. 

Miss Southampton finally comes to terms, and 
gives a promise that she will do violence to her 
feelings of private grief for the public weal. 

Later on, when she made her appearance at the 
designated place, where the mussels most do con- 
gregate, it was evident quite that the joyous spirit, 
which had seemed part of her, was still under a 
cloud. 

Uncle Phil was there, too, busy to excess, looking 
on and giving advice. It was usual for him to be 
ably seconded by Miss Gerry, whose energy was 
boundless, and never flagged. But to-day every- 
thing seemed different; never before had she been 
separated from her brothers, not even during their 


40 


tTNCLE PMiL. 


school days. There was in town a French priest, 
accomplished and learned — indeed, his bishop had 
plainly told him that too much learning had made 
him mad and inclined him to unauthorized views, 
and as he refused either to retract or to hold his 
tongue, he was forbidden to celebrate the mass. De- 
barred this privilege, a priest seems singularly out 
of place in the world — a goose straying on a turn- 
pike is not more helpless. But there is a silver lin- 
ing to most clouds, and the priest, yet not a priest, 
found support and occupation in teaching Colonel 
Southampton’s children; he even taught Gerry 
music. And she shared the lessons of her brothers 
in the use of firearms, and fencing — and perhaps to 
the foils she was somewhat indebted for the beauty, 
ease and firmness of her poses. Her brothers, who 
were absurdly fond and proud of her, obeyed all her 
behests without asking a question, believing that 
all she did was right with a blind reliance that 
nothing on earth could disturb. No wonder that 
her heart was sore. 

“Papa,” said she plaintively, “I believe I will go 
out on the rocks. Perhaps, in some of her tacks, I 
may catch a glimpse of the Arrow. You can send 
for me when the luncheon is ready. I think I would 
rather be alone.” 

The dozen athletic men to whom the latter part 
of her speech was addressed would, at another time, 
have been loud in their protestations against ban- 


.UNCLE PHIL. 


41 


ishment ; but they saw that she was very near cry- 
ing, and not one of them was willing to subject him- 
self to the torture of seeing Miss Gerry weep. 

At this part of the bay a good many large bowl- 
ders extended far out, and were sufficiently near to- 
gether for an agile person to step from one to an- 
other. And when the tide was low, as now it was, 
it was easy to reach a range of rocks having consid- 
erable elevation; Gerry passed on to the highest; 
there she tiptoed, and, putting her hands to her 
face to form a sort of telescope in aid of her vision, 
tried to catch sight of the barque carrying two pas- 
sengers very dear to her. 

But the Arrow, favored by a stiff breeze, was 
bounding her way merrily, far out at sea — no 
glimpse of her could be seen, let Gerry strain her 
eyes as she might. She did not sigh, but with quick, 
gasping sobs, hid out of sight behind a minia- 
ture fortress, where she almost seemed in a world 
of her own. By degrees her sobs ceased — they were 
new acquaintances and felt out of place. 

And she looked straight before her, watching the 
waters of the bay rush out to mingle with the larger 
waters of the ocean. How illimitable seemed the 
expanse, and how beautiful. Under the sun’s glow- 
ing rays the rippling waves glinted with the sheen 
of polished glass. Three or four whales have ven- 
tured inside the mouth of the harbor, and are lazily 
swimming and throwing up water with the effec- 


42 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


tiveness of fountains. And how pure, sweet and ex- 
hilarating is the salt air. Gerry drinks it in, and 
feels the quick rebound as from an intoxicating 
beverage. How alluring seemed the bright waters 
— they seemed calling to her. How she yearns to 
lave in them. She has not lived so many years by 
the sea without knowing how to swim. ^^Oh ! why 
haven’t I got my bathing suit on?” she murmurs, 
oblivious for the moment that picnics and bath- 
ing suits do not go hand in hand. ^^But I can at 
least” — she fails to clothe her idea with words, add- 
ing — ‘^that will be something.” And without more 
ado, this young lady who has had, as yet, no school- 
ing in any of the restraining influences adverse to 
her wishes, and never hesitated at any time to de- 
stroy the artificial boundaries of common usages, 
acted on the sudden whim, and soon the pellucid 
element is rushing over and against the nude feet, 
and Miss Southampton is entirely given over to 
blissful sensations. These blissful sensations term- 
inate abruptly. 

^^Miss Southampton, your father requested me to 
inform you that the mussels are nearly ready. But 
I see you are not ready for the mussels,” commu- 
nicated Mr. Smith in chillingly cutting accents. 

She gave a violent start, and, oh! a silken hose 
slipped from her grasp — rested for one moment on 
the crest of a wavelet — filled itself with air, and 
sailed out seaward, her mournful gaze following it. 


■UNCLE PHIL. 


43 


Remorselessly, uncommiseratingly, Mr. Smith 
watched the disappearance of the erratic stocking, 
then, without the slightest attempt to conceal his 
unadmiring sentiments, said : 

will send Uncle Phil to yon. I imagine you 
have an errand for him. Meanwhile, the mussels 
and the company, I suppose, are to wait.” 

Left to herself. Miss Southampton groaned aloud. 
She felt ill, and doomed ; some horrible fate seemed 
impending. Her childish ears had drunk in with 
unquestioned faith many a tale told by Uncle Phil 
of witchcraft — of people possessed — of how some 
people were given power to cast evil eyes on some 
other people and compel obedience, even were it to 
run up a tree like a squirrel, or bark like a dog, or 
mew like a cat. 

And there were still more awful conjurations, 
when the eyes dropped out, the head turned gray, 
and the tongue became palsied. 

Of course, with riper years, these absurdities were 
disbelieved. Yet a little leaven remained, a predis- 
position to superstition. What is superstition? 
There is no rational way to account for it ; yet few 
there be who have not felt its influence, willingly 
or unwillingly. It comes, it goes, it is tangible, and 
it is intangible, and if firmly resisted sneaks away 
— only to reappear when least expected. 

Miss Gerry’s imagination was at all times like 
a willing steed, taking no account of pace or dis- 


44 


UNCLE PHIL. 


tance, and no wonder that its wild suggestions of 
the potentialities should amaze and affright. Who 
was this Mr. Smith so lately coming en scene? An 
old friend of her father, certainly; but that friend- 
ship was long ago. And there were well-authenti- 
cated instances of men who had so coveted power 
over their fellow-men that they had obtained this 
power by concessions to evil spirits. She almost 
shrieked recollecting how strangely his presence 
had affected her. But supineness had very little to 
do with her organization. Dread of what appeared 
akin to the supernatural might occasion temporary 
weakness, yet it was constitutional to rally quickly 
and face front, flying the signal. No surrender. 

It was certain to her that Mr. Smith had been 
allowed to go on long enough with his airs of su- 
periority, and that he must be signally rebuked, al- 
though he appeared to be so utterly unassailable, 
and had omitted to take in succinctly that she was 
a Southampton, while he was only a Smith. It 
might be difficult to bring him to his bearings; yet 
it must be done, and without loss of time. Her 
smooth brow corrugates in deep thought, awaiting 
the inspiration. 

“Some women have hated me; other women have loved me; 

But she, who has most wounded me 

Has neither loved nor hated me.’" 

There it was in a hand^s grasp. She would treat 
him with the perfect indifference that would irri- 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


45 


tate a tortoise. She would even feign to forget his 
name. 

The most aggressive of sovereigns is rendered 
peaceable by an empty military chest, but when it 
is filled by an unexpected beneficence, he will rush 
into war and unadvisedly force an engagement with 
a flying foe for whom he should have built a bridge 
of gold. 

With the package, which Uncle Phil had been dis- 
patched to bring his young lady, he brought a news- 
paper for the gentlemen, and one was reading aloud 
to the others when Gerry rejoined them. 

Immediately there was an uprising to do her 
honor. Ten thousand thanks are showered upon 
her for gracing this festive occasion with her pres- 
ence. If Mr. Smith looked at her at all, it was in 
such a modest, unostentatious manner as to escape 
detection. 

“Miss Gerry,” said the reader, “I have just 
finished an account of some serious skirmishes be- 
tween our troops and the Indians. Shall I repeat it 
for your behoof?” 

“Not for worlds,” was the decisive answer. 

“Well, as the Queen wills; but here is a bit of 
news that will interest you : Lieutenant Wood has 
been brevetted captain for conspicuous bravery, 
and favored with a furlough. Perhaps he will ar- 
rive in time for our ball to-morrow.” 

Miss Southampton was very demonstrative, clap- 


46 


UNCLE PHIL. 


ping her hands in her joy. Her father, glancing at 
her with approval and sympathy, said : always 

knew there was something in that boy. His father 
and grandfather fought at Guildford.” 

In the prosperous days of yore Colonel South- 
ampton's plantation in the Valley of Virginia, ad- 
joined that of Major Wood, the father of the young 
officer upon whom had been conferred the title, but 
not the emolument of a centurian ; and the most cor- 
dial friendship existed between the families. There- 
fore, when a portion of the army to which Lieuten- 
ant Wood belonged was quartered at Bonito, Colo- 
nel Southampton received him almost as a son. And 
Gerry, too, as readily adopted him, so to speak, and 
treated him much the same as she did her brothers ; 
to the young gentleman’s infinite discontent. A 
very young man is never so much annoyed as when 
placed in this position. To an elderly man it is 
very enjoyable; the alternate petting and scolding 
— being made much of, and candidly depreciated by 
a charming young girl. 

It was only a matter of a few months which had 
passed since when his troop was ordered away to 
fight hostile Indians that Lieutenant Wood called 
to bid Miss Southampton farewell. And to save his 
life he could not feel grateful for her friendly 
adieux, and a deal of excellent advice about wear- 
ing flannel and generally taking care of his health. 

^^And, Charley,” she added, ^^of course I wish you 


UNCLE PHIL. 


47 


to fight bravely, but don’t be rash. It would be a 
great affliction to me should anything serious hap- 
pen to you.” 

Lack-a-day! It was honest, passionate love on 
one side, and honest, pure friendship on the other. 

At this juncture. Uncle Phil, hat in hand, with 
solemn politeness, expressed the pleasure it gives 
him ‘^ter denounce ter de Kunnel, Miss Gerry, an’ 
de Oder gemplemen, dat de mussels wus about ter be 
sarved.’^ 

A table-cloth had been spread on the well-cleaned 
grass, and placed on it were delicacies from various 
climes. Also bottles of the different shapes that in- 
dicated the different character of the vintage con- 
tained, and glasses, of the regulation size, for drink- 
ing the same were gathered too close together to 
suit the views of a teetotaler. But the waters of 
that otherwise highly favored country, were brack- 
ish, and not adpopulum as a beverage. 

To return to Miss Southampton and her viva- 
cious hand-clapping. “Oh, I am so joyful !” she ex- 
claimed. “I feel in the humor to dance a horn- 
pipe on the festive board, represented by a cloth.” 

“Oh, Miss Gerry ! we humbly implore you to wait 
until our appetites are appeased,” cried the hungry 
gentlemen. 

The tendency of that beatific climate produces 
what is called being “sharp set,” and the gentle- 
meu were hastening to assume the various attitudes 


48 


UNCLE PHIL. 


that go to show how the human form divine can be 
crumpled to suit the exigencies of the occasion, 
when they were imperatively stopped by Miss 
Southampton, with the order to ‘^fill glasses and 
drink standing, in honor of Brevet Captain Charles 
Wood.’’ 

This was done with ultra promptness ; but it was 
not enough to satisfy the young lady. ^^Break 
glasses!” she cried, smashing hers. 

For about a half-second the breaking of wine- 
glasses was in order. Mr. Smith only placing his 
carefully down, declaring such wanton destruction 
clear against his habits. And, furthermore, he con- 
fessed himself unable to see in what way the gallant 
young officer’s health and prospects could be ad- 
vanced by such a sacrifice of drinking vessels. 

Miss Gerry darted a furious look at him, not- 
withstanding she had, as we know, resolved to let 
him die the chilling death of being left alone. But 
this Fabian policy was too much for her impatient 
nature. 

^^Doubtless,” she exclaimed hotly, ^^the habit of 
economy is one of the lofty virtues — ^but don’t you 
think it can be carried to excess, Mr. — er — er — 
Jones?” 

^^Smith is my name,” he answered deliberately, 
^^and prudent economy is not excessive, Miss — er — 
er — what is your name, anyhow?” 

If Mr. Smith intended this remark as his contrir 


UNCLE PHIL. 


49 


bution to improve the hilarity of the company, it 
was a conspicuous failure. 

Miss Southampton’s friends were all thorough- 
paced partisans, and turned frowning brows toward 
that gentleman, and only the knowledge that he 
'was the guest of Colonel Southampton saved him 
from being torn to pieces, limb from limb. 

Colonel Southampton’s face clouded — it troubled 
him that his friend and his daughter should be at 
outs. And there would have been an awkward 
pause had not the quick-witted lady, with her 
gracious womanhood, repaired the breach she had 
made — and without making the least concession, or 
giving up an inch of ground. She slightly inclined 
her head, and with high-bred courtesy hastened to 
say: “I beg your pardon, Mr. Smith, for a mo- 
mentary forgetfulness of the consideration due to 
my father’s guest. But my natural brusqueness, 
which is of course reprehensible, meets with so 
much general indulgence that I do not improve.” 

Having said this much for the credit of her fatn- 
er’s house, she felt privileged to add with the osten- 
tatious, tender regret which might have vexed the 
righteous soul of a saint: ^‘Not knowing Captain 
Wood, you cannot form an idea of the many high 
virtues and attributes that cluster around his hon- 
ored name, and a name so dear to us, therefore you 
declined the immolation of an empty wine-glass, 


50 


UNCLE PHIL. 


But we bear you no ill will. You are freely and 
fully forgiven.” 

Some of the company felt very ill afterward in 
consequence of their efforts to repress smiles. The 
object of the attack alone remained unmoved — the 
barb had been well-aimed, and hit squarely, but fell 
harmless. Gerry looked at him curiously, and by 
some anomaly, felt inclined toward him. ^‘There 
is not another man alive,” she thought, “whose eyes 
could meet mine so unflinchingly,” and from that 
hour she could not disguise from herself that his in- 
fluence strengthened over her daily. It was the in- 
herent admiration a mercurial temperament often 
has for a hard, reticent nature, so exactly its antith- 
esis. But she had no idea of laying down her 
arms. The Southamptons had always been a proud 
people; and she had her full share of that deadly 
sin which brought ruin on the highest of the angels 
and eternal punishment on the Son of the Morn- 
ing. 

She seated herself remotely as possible from the 
quiet, silent man. Just then Uncle Phil approached 
her and with a beaming face whispered something 
in her ear. Merely taking time to say “dispensa 
me,” she sprang up, and was whisked away — only 
a few paces — followed by every eye. A covered bas- 
ket was opened, and the two heads bent over, view- 
ing its contents with immense delight, and exchang- 
ing a few rapid sentences, 


UNCLE PHIL. 


51 


The curiosity of the uninitiated rises rampant, 
and they cry : 

^What is it, Miss Gerry? Won’t you let us into 
the agreeable secret, too?” 

^‘It is not a secret,” she answered triumphantly, 
^^Uncle Phil says it is a ^tecky.’ And you shall see 
him ; and you shall eat him.” 

turkey!” was the surprised exclamations. 
^‘Did it fall from the clouds?” 

With flourish of Itrumpets, as it were. Miss 
Southampton and Uncle Phil together place the 
dish containing the rare fowl in front of Colonel 
Southampton. 

“Stop, papa,” cried Miss Gerry, as the carving 
knife was deftly raised. “Don’t touch him yet — 
let us admire. You must all pardon my enthusiasm, 
I never saw a ^tecky’ before. Uncle Phil says I did 
in Virginia. But the sweetest memories fade, and 
I cannot recall an acquaintance with this species 
of the winged tribe. Hitherto gallinas only and I 
have known each other, and you must bear with my 
exultation.” 

“But where did it come from?” persisted the gen- 
tlemen. 

“Do you think it quite good manners,” retorted 
the young lady, “to be so morbidly curious about 
his history. Possibly — probably, there may be biz- 
arre circumstances in connection with it. But he 
came to us in a purely commercial way. Uncle Phil 


52 


UNCLE PHIL. 


purchased him from a mucharcho, who called upon 
every saint in the calendar to witness that he came 
by him honestly — ^but that is with his conscience! 
The sum paid was sixteen dollars. A mere noth- 
ing when compared with the cost of some dainties 
the old Komans provided for their guests — ^just 
think of the shield of Minerva costing seventy-two 
thousand dollars. How thankful we ought to feel, 
papa, that we did not live in those expensive days. 
Now, cut, and spare not; only divide fair.” 

Presently there began a decorous clatter of 
knives and forks, and a good deal of merriment, the 
principal instigator being Miss Southampton. She 
was perhaps all the more brilliant and exigent be- 
cause of the glances of grave surprise directed at 
intervals toward her from Mr. Smith, who inwardly 
wondered that this could be the same young per- 
son whom a few hours only had elapsed since he 
— with his own eyes, which he never distrusted — 
had beheld in a tumult of grief. He condemned 
such frivolity utterly. Besides, he did not wholly 
approve the way she grasped the reins of conversa- 
tion, nor of the dexterous manner in which she 
handled them. Neither did he sympathize in the un- 
affected delight manifested by the ^^arrant num- 
skulls” (Mr. Smith’s estimate of the intellectual 
attainments of those high public officers was er- 
roneous) ; they were simply enjoying a war of wits 
with a bright young girl, who could stand up square 


UNCLE PHIL. 


53 


and hit out straight. Suddenly she exclaimed: 
^^Oh, papa ! there is going to be a storm !” 

Engrossed in their mirth, no one had noticed the 
rapid change in the atmospheric conditions, and 
that a storm was almost upon them. The “mare’s 
tails” were tossing wildly against the sky-line and 
the scurrying clouds of dark indigo-hlue just edged 
with copper were quickly massing. A rain-drop 
fell with a splash against the white cloth, making 
a damp circle. Others began to patter. Miss 
Gerry started up, though by no means afraid of a 
shower, and said laughingly: “There is no time 
for grace after meat, and Major Henley (to a stal- 
wart infantryman at her side). I’ll run you to the 
Custom House for a gold quarter.” And, nothing 
loth, he set out with her at a clipping pace. The 
others followed such a felicitous lead. Only Colo- 
nel Southampton stayed behind with Mr. Smith to 
come on more leisurely — he would have preferred 
keeping company with the youngsters. 


64 


UNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE BAL MILITAIRE. 

“You’ll find it will be best 

To meet with smiles the pleasant glance, 

And think all friends are true, 

And never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.” 

On the morning after the mussel stew Mr. Paul 
Smith’s slumbers are put to flight by sounds of mer- 
riment. He could not recollect that such a thing 
had ever happened to him before. 

^^That irrepressible girl, of course,” he murmurs. 
But, curious to ascertain “what she was up to” so 
early in the morning, he rises and withdraws a 
moiety of the curtain that hangs over the glass 
door that looks out on the bay — twenty paces dis- 
tant — and where its headline begins its beautiful 
sweep against a sandy beach. Since yesterday the 
appearance of the bay has undergone a change. In 
the night shoals of sardines have crowded in, and 
the waters are thick with them. And standing 
there he sees a sight not intended for his eyes. 

A most hilarious couple are out in the waters 
almost up to their knees. Miss Southampton and 
Uncle Phil, who, with his bare feet, and his trous- 
ers rolled up, seems thoroughly equipped for the 


TJNCLB PHIL. 


56 


work. With a net attached to a short pole he is 
scooping up the small fry with all the dexterity and 
enjoyment of a born fisherman, and emptying his 
catch into a creel hanging on his arm. Miss Gerry, 
who is scarcely less well prepared, is bareheaded — 
her flannel gown securely tucked up, and her feet 
thrust into a pair of her father’s boots. She is 
springing from place to place, diving her hands 
among the shining, wriggling, twisting slippery 
creatures; occasionally she seizes one, and despite 
its struggles pops it into Uncle Phil’s creel with a 
shout. ^^Look out. Miss Gerry, chile!” he cau- 
tioned, ^^be keerful ! ef y’u steps onto one ob dese 
warmints down y’u’ll go kerwollop.” Mentioning 
such catastrophe seems to bring it on. Down goes 
the young lady over head and ears. 

“Now for a bit of vehement scolding,” thought 
that middle-aged gentleman, looking on. On the 
contrary, she rises quickly, and shaking her head to 
get the salt water out of her eyes, bursts into a peal 
of laughter clear and sweet as silver chimes. In- 
voluntarily Mr. Smith’s lips part in a smile, as he 
said : “Well, she does possess uncommon apprecia- 
tion of the humorous,” and he watches the incon- 
gruous but congenial pair with unabated interest 
until the filling of the creel stops their labor. 

“Come, Miss Gerry, chile, dese is plenty. Les 
go in,” said Uncle Phil. 

“Let me help you carry the basket,” said she, and 


^6 


UNCLE PHIL. 


with it between them they pass under the shadows 
of the corridor. 

Mr. Smith went back to his bed, but not to resume 
his interrupted slumbers. The flashing brown eyes 
seem to pursue him with their merriment. And he 
feels forced to admit that it is no matter for sur- 
prise that his old friend’s daughter draws all hearts 
to her, like steel-fllings to a magnet. ^^She is of the 
same sort as that hooked-nose fellow from Kome 
with his veni, vide, vici. I must be wary. I am past 
the age for such folly.” 

Some hours later Mr. Smith descends to the cor- 
ridor to ^Take a little turn before breakfast” (he has 
had his cup of coffee and a roll in his bedroom) ; 
his constitutional is cut short; he stops to listen to 
piano chords, struck by a masterly hand, followed 
by a gush of melody. Gerry is singing an old song 
he has not heard since he was a boy. Entranced, he 
listened where he stood — he felt averse to going in 
among the ^^usual crowd of idiots.” The ‘fldiots” 
were not there, she was singing to her father only, 
and presently they came out together. ^^Come, 
Smith,” said Colonel Southampton, ^flet’s have 
breakfast. Every morning for an appetizer, instead 
of absinthe, Gerry sings me an old-time ballad.” 

Costumed correctly. Colonel Southampton and 
Mr. Smith are waiting in the parlor for the incom- 
ing of Miss Southampton, who presently makes her 


tiNCLB PHIL. 


57 


appearance bewilderingly dazzling in her evening 
toilet. 

She is neither blonde nor brunette, but of the 
^^PPy fyp^ that can wear all colors. She is now 
clad in a gown of heavy, blue silk, and its rich folds 
fall easily into classic outlines, draping with mar- 
velous effect her elastic, graceful figure. Eows of 
great pearls encircle her beautiful arms and neck. 

‘Why, Gerry!” exclaimed her father, “you are 
positively bewitching. She looks like a Greek god- 
dess, don’t she. Smith?” 

“I never saw a Greek goddess,” answered Mr. 
Smith ; “but to a plain man, such as I, a woman al- 
ways looks best when she’s got clothes on all over 
her.” 

The so-called Greek goddess gives him a look of 
imperial disdain, and Colonel Southampton lost no 
time in saying : “You are out of order. Smith ; the 
evening toilets of ladies are not subject to private 
interpretation. The mandates of that inexorable 
dame. Fashion, are not to be evaded, and I would 
not like to see my Gerry render herself remarkable 
by wearing a bib. But to her less favored sisters — 
who really would appear to advantage with clothes 
on all over them — Fashion’s mandates are tyran- 
nous. But come,” he continued, placing his daugh- 
ter’s wraps carefully about her, “we had better go. 
They have a way of detaining things, waiting for 
my Gerry.” With his daughter on his arm he 


58 


UNCLE PHIL. 


passed out of the door and nearly collided with a 
person in the corridor. ^^Ah ! Mr. Hamilton ! Good 
evening. Are you bound for the ball?’^ 

‘‘No,” was the answer, “I have come to pass the 
evening with Mrs. Southampton — reading to her.” 

“Come on, papa,” said Miss Gerry. “Don’t stand 
here talking all night.” 

The marked aversion in her tone caused Mr. 
Smith to ask after they had gone by: “Who is 
that?” 

“Well, Hamilton is his name. I really don’t 
know much about him ; but Mrs. Southampton has 
taken an invalid’s fancy to him — I scarcely under- 
stand why. He strikes me as being a young fellow 
with very little to recommend him. I suppose, how- 
ever, that while he will never be of much benefit to 
himself he will never be of much harm to any one 
else. Such men never disturb the peace of the 
world.” 

The drive was so short that when the vehicle — 
which was an army ambulance — stopped in front 
of the illuminated Town Hall Mr. Smith remarked : 
“We had just as well have walked.” 

Colonel Southampton laughed. 

“Certainly we had just as well have walked, only 
there were Gerry’s satin boots to be considered, as 
you would have known yourself were you a father.” 

“Which I am not,” answered Mr. Smith testily. 

It did seem as if the arrival of Miss Southampton 


UNCLE PHIL. 


59 


was of importance, so great a crowd of officers had 
gathered — all emulous to assist in her descent. 

“Gerry, said her father to her, in admonitory 
tones, “you are forgetting something.’^ 

Miss Southampton does not seem particularly 
pleased at this recall to duty. But at once she 
turns to Smith, sitting by her side, and says : “What 
dance shall I save for you?’’ 

“I do not dance,” was the answer. 

The “will” and the “won’t” are sometimes so 
closely allied in the female breast as scarcely to be 
separable, hence the answer ; 

“You can promenade, I suppose, not being 
lame.” 

“No, I am not lame,” was the composed reply, 
“and I can promenade with you.” 

“How charmed I shall be,” said Gerry, with a 
light laugh. And giving a hand to each of the two 
nearest gallants, she springs to the carpeted side- 
walk, and enters the open portal, draped with an 
American flag. 

A “private” without and a “private” within are 
on duty; not warlike for the nonce, only for the 
military effect. 

Colonel Southampton and Mr. Smith followed 
just in time to see Miss Southampton disappearing 
through another flag environed doorway, by which 
stands another “private” guarding the sacred pre- 
cincts of the ladies’ wraps. These two gentlemen 


60 


UNCLE PHIL. 


are taken in charge by another ‘^private’’ and con- 
ducted to the cloak room, from which they emerge 
very soon, Colonel Southampton saying : 

^^We will gather up Gerry and go to the ball 
room, which is up stairs. The supper room is down 
here.” 

The gathering up process is not difficult, as quite 
near to them they hear a tinkling laugh. 

^^That’s Gerry,” said her father, piloted by the 
sound, which leads them to where she is standing 
by the door of the supper room, surrounded by a 
bevy of epaulet-wearers, one of whom is pouring 
Veuve Cliquot into a tumbler she holds in her hand, 
of the kind called ^ffialf-bottle.” 

A grave surprise was stationary on the counte- 
nance of Mr. Smith as he stood counting the tum- 
blers of wine, one, two, three, which went down the 
young lady’s throat. 

“Gerry is very prudently fortifying herself 
against catching cold,” nonchalantly remarked her 
father. 

Mr. Smith made no audible reply; his thoughts 
being best kept to himself. 

With a slight inclination of the head to her ad- 
mirers, like a queen dismissing courtiers. Miss 
Gerry comes forward. Her right hand is given 
to her father, and the other she lays lightly on the 
arm of Smith. Thus doubly escorted she enters 


tJNCLB PHth. 


61 


the gala room. At that moment the music from at 
least two dozen instruments crashes forth. 

^^See what it is, Smith,” said Colonel Southamp- 
ton, “to possess a handsome daughter. One comes 
in for part of the honors. And as you do not dance, 
you had better procure a seat at once, while you 
may. Gerry will come after you to give you your 
promenade, which otherwise you might miss, not 
being conversant with the how and when.” 

Left to his own devices and the doubtful joy of 
“looking on,” Mr. Smith surveyed the animated 
scene with dispassionate interest. Everyone looked 
happy; he alone apoeared to have been brought 
there willy-nilly. He was anything but a shy man ; 
diffidence had never seemed to him a desirable qual- 
ity. Yet he observed Miss Southampton with sur- 
prise bordering on wonderment that so young a girl 
in so large an assembly should be so self-possessed. 

The ball room seemed her natural element. It 
was easy to see that the brilliancy of this occasion 
was due to her joyous animation. In the waltz and 
the quadrille her presence seemed to bring bright- 
ness, and especially in the contradanza, when the 
entire sala was filled with wildering fours, she 
glided in and out like a sunbeam, with smiles and 
pleasant words for all. He could now see that she 
' was one of those rarely gifted beings who cannot 
look or speak, or stir, without waking up and satis- 
fying some vague longing which had lain dormant. 


62 


tTNCLE PHIL. 


Still, there was no denying that behind all her 
bonne-camaraderie there was a hanghty self-reli- 
ance. And the claims of heredity appealed to him 
as never before — that of all ineffaceable things 
there was nothing that defied obliteration like the 
traces of race. 

Sitting there, all alone, he was conscious of a re- 
gret that he, too, could not dance — it seemed such 
a pleasant pastime. There was Colonel Southamp- 
ton, her father, and a younger man than himself^ 
bobbing about with the friskiest. 

He had very little knowledge of music, yet his 
ear detected a change in the measure when the band 
struck up the ^^March of the Silver Trumpets.” Al- 
most simultaneously Miss Southampton came to 
him and said : ^^This is our promenade, Mr. Smith 
— unless you have changed your mind,” she added 
with a bright smile. 

The spell under which she had erstwhile chafed 
lifted and changed — it was now Mr. Smith who 
was at the disadvantage; but he pulled himself to- 
gether to promulgate an appropriate answer. His 
effort was not happy, and on another occasion 
would have provoked a withering retort. 

^^Certainly I will promenade with you. Anything 
to please the chil — I beg pardon — I mean the 
ladies.” 

“No offence,” is the smiling answer. “It has been 


UNCLE PHIL. 63 

said that all people are children of differentiated 
growth.’^ 

Anything of chit-chat was very foreign to Mr. 
Smith’s habitude; yet he soon found himself be- 
guiled into the gayest of light conversation. Of 
course, she forced the running, and skilfully car- 
ried him along at a pace he never would have 
dreamed of. With her small hand resting on his 
arm, he meandered quite joyously through the im- 
mense sala, beautiful in its adornments of pine 
boughs and bunting. The good taste of the officers 
who superintended the decorations had mingled the 
Mexican colors with the Stars and Stripes. The 
French Tricouleur also had a place in compliment 
to the newly arrived French consul and his daugh- 
ter. 

It was a surprising circumstance, surprising no 
one more than himself, that Mr. Smith, beginning 
to feel himself a part of what he saw, should soon 
drift into the “We won’t go home till morning” sen- 
sation, always provided that his present partner 
would promenade with him “till daylight doth ap- 
pear.” 

He was relating to her (his meaning was to flat- 
ter, and he hoped it was not laid on with a trowel) 
that her father had been called the handsomest 
man in Virginia — and she was very like him. An 
interruption occurred. Miss Gerry suddenly ex- 
claiming, “Oh! there’s Charley/’ darted away to 


64 


UNCLE PHIL. 


meet a tall, fair-haired, young man just coming into 
the room. Mr. Smith is filled with rage, and 
growls, ^‘Damn Charley.’^ Somehow he gets into a 
seat, keeping his eyes fixed on his late partner and 
the new-comer she is so pleased to see. 

The young man^s eyes glisten, and the tell-tale 
fiush of love spreads over his face as he grasps the 
young lady’s extended hand. Her face expresses 
an open, undisguised, unerotic, affectionate inter- 
est, which deceived no one, not even the object of 
it, only excepting one elderly gentleman. Even he 
would have been quickly set to right had he heard 
their conversation ; but, alas ! they were too far off 
— the acoustics of a ball room are not what they 
should be — and he could only watch them with an 
unquiet heart, mentally telling himself that he 
‘‘knew all along that it wouldn’t do and to place 
matters as best for himself he would terminate his 
visit to-morrow. He sighed; the successful crusade 
after dollars in which so many years of his life had 
been passed did not now seem alluring. To do him 
justice, it had been circumstances, not inborn in- 
clination, which had drawn him into that particu- 
lar path. It was the old story that had ended — 

“The other way — the other way.” 

He had played gold for coppers, and had become 
bankrupt. That was long ago, and the remem- 
brance he had by a powerful will relegated to the 


UNCLE PHIL. 


65 


background of his memory, and it did not fret him 
now. But to adventure again, for the second time, 
when he was old enough to know better, seemed lit- 
tle short of madness. But who is ever old enough 
to know better? And in this world of ours who has 
strength of mind to resist and stay back when the 
silver bell rings and the curtain goes up revealing 
Arcadia? Insensibly the foot is drawn across the 
fairy boundary undeterred by the knowledge that 
the excursion must be short, that inexorably the re- 
call will be sounded, bringing back to sober reality. 
These journeys are taken without counting the cost 
— that financial pleasure is reserved for the dreary 
future. Be sure that payment will be exacted to 
the last farthing. 

“Captain Wood, I am so happy to see you ! and I 
feel so proud of you !” quickly communicated Miss 
Southampton, her eyes resting with delight on the 
shoulder-strap — glistening in its bravery of new 
bullion. The warmth of her friendship annoys the 
young man. 

“Please, Miss Gerry, do not pat me on the head 
and call me a good boy.” 

“Which would only express the situation, if I 
did. Why, I could hardly feel more delighted if it 
were South or Fred,” she explained, using her 
handkerchief to dust away an imaginary speck ou 
the shoulder ornament 

He winced, 


66 


UNCLE PHIL. 


^Tray don’t, Miss Gerry — I wish I hadn’t got the 
thing — but — I thought it might please you.” 

“And so it does, you irritable boy. Cannot every 
one see how charmed I am?” 

He bit his lip, and to change the character of the 
conversation, for he felt no special interest in 
knowing, he asked : 

“Who is that elderly person, the companion of 
your late promenade? You must have inflicted 
some bodily injury on him as you burst away. See 
how he is glowering at you.” 

Miss Gerry paused, quite a whole second, before 
replying: 

“That ! — he ! — well, his name is Smith. He went 
to William and Mary with papa.” 

The ice being broken, she becomes fairly confiden- 
tial, and continues rather faintly : “Charley, it is 
the strangest thing in the world the way I fancied 
him at sight. But,” a feeling of honor impelled 
her to tell the whole truth, “he does not fancy me.” 

“I am delighted to hear it,” interpolates Brevet- 
Captain Wood. 

“Yes,” she continued, making no effort to soften 
the unflattering opinion, “he thinks me to be a sort 
of hybrid — an accentuated tomboy.” 

“Shall I shoot him?” inquired the young officer. 

“Oh, no !” she answered. “I do not wish to over- 
come his dislike — in that way. And who knows, 
perhaps in time he may overlook my defects^ and 


UNCLE PHIL. 


67 


give me credit for the possession of some amiable 
quality, and I may become less obnoxious to him. 
At present he rarely looks at me except in a most 
exasperating way, and snubs me so continually that 
I am forced to retaliate — or lose my self-respect for- 
ever.^’ Her companion looked at her curiously in 
the effort to detect a smile, denoting a jest. But, 
no, she was quite serious ; and there was a wistful 
look in her eyes he had never seen in them before. 
“And, Charley,” she added, “it is very disagreeable 
to feel sure that you could like a person immensely 
who does not care in the least for you.” 

“Eminently so,” he answered, feeling that in a 
few short moments he had grown to hate Mr. Smith 
— a man he had never spoken to. 

Of all sentiments love is supposed to be the purest 
and most refining to the human soul — 

“Having no thought of self.” 

Yet, there is no doubt, it sometimes engenders 
very hostile emotions. 

“Are you not going to dance with me, Miss 
Gerry?” 

“They are going to play a quadrille now, 
Charley,” said she, coaxingly, “and over there sits 
a lady — and I am sure no one has yet asked her to 
dance.” 

“I am not at all surprised,” he answered, after an 
up-and-down look at the lady indicated, 


68 


UNCLE PHIL. 


^^Charley,” she answered in a very pacific tone, 
is not her fault if she is a little old — and a little 
plain — and a little queerly dressed. With it all, she 
is a woman, with a woman’s instincts. And though 
her character may be of the highest elevation, and 
the brilliancy of her mind such as to excite the 
envy of the angels, she would go home humbled 
and mortified if no one had asked her to dance. 
Now, if South and Fred were here,” she paused, 
remembering that though the obedience of those 
brothers as a rule was beyond praise, yet on this 
point they had frequently turned restive, protesting 
boldly that she was stretching her prerogative to 
the verge of tyranny. And right well she knew 
with what unanimity the warriors of land and sea 
abhorred wall-flowers, and not less cruel was the 
kindness of the civilians toward these flowerets; 
which might wither and die without a hand ex- 
tended to ask them to dance. “I cannot even catch 
papa’s eye,” she continued, with an injured air, 
‘^though I have endeavored to do so. Now, Charley, 
don’t you be disagreeable, too.” 

don’t think the ancient party can dance,” he 
demurred. 

^^So much the more creditable of you to ask her. 
And,” resorting to the debasing influence of flattery, 
^^with you, the best dancer in California; and Major 
Fitzgerald and I vis-a-vis, we can carry her tri- 
umphantly through/? 


UNCLE PHIL. 


69 


don’t know her/’ said poor Charley weakly, 
making his final protest. 

^‘Do not be simple,” she commanded, knowing 
that she had gained her point ; ^ Vhat are the floor- 
managers for?” And without loss of time she in- 
structed a gentleman, whose rosette was of the right 
color, to introduce Captain Wood to that lady sit- 
ting over there en solitaire, in the bottle-green meri- 
no dress. ‘^And now, Charley, be nice to her, and 
claim me for the next waltz — the next two. I am 
engaged of course — but all my engagements are sub- 
ject to mutations.” 

The bribe was sufficient ; had the lady in bottle- 
green been Beelzebub’s wife, or Beelzebub’s daugh- 
ter the young officer would unhesitatingly have com- 
mitted himself to her as guide and protector in the 
quadrille of which she knew nothing. A perilous 
enterprise, let he who will attempt it. But the 
young officer was equal to the occasion, and with the 
smiling face that hides a breaking heart, solicited 
the lady in question for the honor of a dance. 

don’t care if I do try,” she readily assented ; 
never did dance, but it looks so easy.” Easy? Well, 
it did prove tolerably easy for her. And when Cap- 
tain Wood conducted her to a seat, thanking her 
effusively, he left her in a glow of delight. And not 
until she reads these pages will she know that for 
those fleeting moments of ball-room bliss, she was 
indebted to the watchful, unwearied exertions of 


70 


UNCLE PHIL. 


three persons, who good-naturedly took her in 
charge. The difficulties of the position were aug- 
mented that they were dancing 4 la old California 
without the aid of a prompter. 

I do not state it as a certainty, but as probable, 
that had Mr. Smith known of Miss Southampton’s 
agency in this matter it would have been something 
in extenuation of the general condemnation he gave 
to her conduct for the remainder of the evening, or 
rather until two a. m., when, according to her in- 
variable custom, she withdrew. No one knew bet- 
ter than herself the value of a timely arrival and a 
judicious departure. 

“To increase your worth 
Let yourself be sought.” 

‘^No more balls for me,” announced Mr. Smith, 
when they were fairly under way on the homeward 
drive. 

Colonel Southampton made no answer. A casual 
observer would have thought him given over to ad- 
miration of the moon, as she lay by reflection in her 
white beauty on the deep, still bosom of the bay. 
And it was Miss Geraldine who replied to Mr. 
Smith. 

‘^Balls are charming — -when you get iused to 
them.” 

She said this shyly, for she was conscious that he 


UNCLE PHIL. 


71 


had purposely not seen the various glances of pro- 
pitiation with which she had favored him. 

As he made no reply, the conversation would have 
ceased, had not a remark occurred to her with which 
it was her belief that all the world would be in sym- 
pathy. 

With a flushing face she said : 

“Mr. Smith, did not Brevet-Captain Wood appear 
to you as the ideal young soldier?^’ 

“He appeared to me the ideal young jack-a- 
napes,” was the rude answer. 

“You do not know him!^^ she cried hotly. A 
Southampton would at death^s door do battle for 
an absent friend. “There never lived a better man- 
nered, or a better hearted boy than Charley Wood.” 

“I have not the slightest interest either in his 
manners or his heart,” said Mr. Smith with acri- 
mony. 

“I did not reflect,” answered Gerry, deeply of- 
fended, “that those were qualities which you could 
neither admire nor understand.” 

Fortunately, the stoppage of the vehicle caused 
an adjournment sine die of this little unpleasant- 
ness. 

Colonel Southampton’s undivided attention 
seemed still given to the moon ; he was now look- 
ing at her upward swinging in her orbit. It was 
evidently his fixed intention to have neither act 
nor part in the hostilities, however much he might 


n 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


regret them, being a friend to both belligerents. 

Miss Gerry did not wait for assistance in her 
descent, but, making what is called a flying jump, 
and clearing two good yards, she stood beside the 
unfurnished flag-staff, around which she threw one 
bare arm, looking upward to where the flag was not. 

For years to come, in dreams, sleeping and wak- 
ing, how often Paul Smith saw her thus. The tas- 
seled thing, called a rigolette, had fallen off, and 
the short, scarlet cloak had slipped to her waist. 
The flooding moonlight enveloped her, destroying 
color, and lending the effect of pure, insensuous 
beauty. Mr. Smith did think then that she wms the 
verisemblance of a Greek goddess clinging fast to 
her altar after it had been despoiled of its rich gifts. 
He almost started at her clear, flute-like tones, say- 
ing, as she came near to her father : “I do not 
think that I ever feel real, flawless happiness out 
of office hours — wffien the flag is down.” 

‘^And so,” said Smith, “you still remember that 
you are an American, and love your flag?” 

“I think,” she answ^ered, simply, “that because of 
living nearly all my life so much among foreigners 
that I appreciate my birthright all the more, and 
feel prouder than Americans usually do that I am 
an American. I wdll now say good-night to you, 
papa. And, Mr. Smith, I wish you good-night.” 

Both men stood watching her until she disap- 
peared behind the door of her own apartment. That 


mcLEj f aiL. 

old Spanish home had no hallway, the doors all 
opening out on the long corridor. 

^^Good-night, Smith,” said Colonel Southampton ; 
^^you had better go to your roost, as I am going to 
do.” 

Left to himself, Mr. Smith began to walk up and 
down the covered promenade; its live-oak floor was 
dampened by the salt spray. He lighted a cigar, 
but in his somber meditations it soon went out. ^^Let 
me see,” he murmured, ^^how many years have gone 
by since that girl jilted me for a richer suitor — I 
had not made my millions then — it was a bad hurt 
I got. It did seem quite too dreadful for that fair, 
soft beauty, with her pretty, baby ways, to have an 
eye to the depth of a man’s pocket. I got over the 
love of her — of course ; but something valuable went 
away from me with it — ^the ability to perfectly trust 
another woman. Good God ! were it not for that 
what a heaven is now in view. A man is never too 
old to make a fool of himself! and since I first 
looked on this daughter of Southampton’s I have 
loved — no ! I have been besotted about her; and in 
my efforts to save myself from coming a cropper, 
as would most likely happen, I have — of premedi- 
tation, acted toward her like a brute. I believe a 
grizzly bear would have been more mannerly. But 
it was of necessity — at — my — time — of — life — I — 
cannot — stand — another disappointment.” 

Here he made a mental review of the bearing of 


UNCLE PHIL. 


*^4 

Miss Southampton toward himself since the mo- 
ment when he saw her writing in the office of the 
collector of customs. ^^Cupid^s freaks are unac- 
countable — and some inner sense inclines me to 
think that she could like me, perhaps become fond of 
me, were it not for that damned young military 
puppy.” 

He w^as not the only night-walker. The public 
character of this building rendered its corridor a 
pass-way free for all, and Mr. Smith saw approach- 
ing him the man Hamilton, who enquired, jauntily, 
as he passed by, ^‘Moon-struck or star-gazing?” 

Not at any time could Smith have been called an 
amiable man, and just now his temper was not at 
its sweetest, and he replied, roughly, “Go to h — ^1 !” 
This was a very impolite speech, and, strange to say, 
seemingly gave no offense, for the gentleman merely 
smiled, and said softly, as he stepped down from the 
corridor : “Another Eichmond in the field.” 

“I have no fears of that chap,” said Smith, and 
after a little refiection he added, “nor of any one. 
1^11 stand or fall as I may.” He relighted his cigar, 
and aided by its soothing infiuence, and — philoso- 
phy, which some place their hopes upon to temper 
the wind to the shorn lamb, brought himself to a 
feeling, or thought he did, that he “would be able to 
bear it,” no matter what fate might decree. “Yet^ 
I think,” was his final conclusion, “that I will leave 
here to-morrow — that will be safest.” 


tNCLE PHIL. 


*^5 


CHAPTER VI. 

DAVID AND JONATHAN. 

“We are in God’s hands, brother.” 

But he did not leave on the morrow, nor the day 
after. Colonel Southampton’s was a pleasant house 
to visit. Diversion followed diversion in rapid suc- 
cession and variety. It was an ideal household with 
one exception, the non-appearance of Mrs. South- 
ampton. 

Uncle Phil was the Major Domo, and superin- 
tended the household according to the Virginia re- 
gime with an admixture of the taking-life-easy ele- 
ment borrowed from the native Californians; 
expenses not considered. And Paul Smith often 
found himself wondering if Colonel Southampton’s 
means kept pace with his outlay. Some instinct 
told him No, and that a crisis was not far off. 

A great poet once made the statement : ^^Man’s 
love is of man’s life a thing apart.” Perhaps the 
great poet did not know, or perhaps he allowed his 
imagination to run riot untrammeled by facts. One 
needs to be only moderately well-informed to know, 
without room for doubt, that kingdoms have been 
convulsed, and cities ruined for a light heart that 
beat within a silken bodice — and not worth having. 


^6 


tfNCLE MIL. 


But there is another love, between man and man, 
which is rarer, and holier. ^^The soul of Jonathan 
was knit with the soul of David.’’ The glory of 
Thebes rose in the friendship of Pelopidas and 
Epaminondas, and departed when that friendship 
was severed by death. Antony mourned over Cse* 
sar’s dead body: ^^He was my friend, faithful and 
just to me.” And inviolable was the love between 
Pylades and Orestes. So had the warm, friendly 
heart of Kobert Southampton gained its empire over 
the equally w^arm but less demonstrative heart of 
Paul Smith, and he tarried on, resolved that should 
trouble come he would stand by the side of his 
friend. 

At the commencement of his visit, Mr. Smith 
each morning made polite enquiries concerning the 
health of Mrs. Southampton. “Mrs. Southampton 
is very much of an invalid and seldom leaves her 
room,” was the unvarying answer, let him ask whom 
he would. This reply was delivered courteously 
enough ; yet the tones were a distinctly implied de- 
sire that he should seek to know no more. That she 
received visitors he knew; for he frequently met 
Mr. Hamilton either going or coming, always with 
some remark about “reading to Mrs. Southampton.” 

Mr. Smith was a gentleman, and willing to be 
mute, deaf and blind about what did not concern 
him. But his friendship was of too sincere a nature 
not to feel deeply concerned about this mystery in 


tJNCLfi PHIL. 


his friend’s house. And hoping there might be some 
way of being ^^helpful to Robert,” he resolved to 
put some questions to Uncle Phil, and one day, after 
listening for a long time to discussive reminiscences 
of Virginia, he asked with apparent carelessness : 

^^Uncle Phil, what ails Mrs. Southampton?” 

An expression of hopeless impenetrability spread 
over the sable features. 

“Dar ain’t nuthin’ in perticlar de marter wid 
Miss Frawnces. She’s kinder dilikit — dat’s all ; but 
she’s got narves, an’ sometimes worrits orful,” here 
the remembrance of some personal grievance get- 
ting the better of discretion, he added, testily : ‘‘an’ 
she makes it wery onpleasant fur mos’ folkes, me an’ 
Marse Robert in perticler. But, Good Lordy ! how 
is we gwine ter he’p oursefs? We says nuthin’, an’ 
keeps outer dar tell times gits good, which ain’t 
tuck place tell yit. But she’s dilikit.” 

“Does Miss Southampton ever try to be of service 
to her stepmother?” enquired Mr. Smith. 

“Shew!” indignantly sniffed Uncle Phil, losing 
his temper and his little remaining prudence with 
it ; his young lady was the apple of his eye. “Miss 
Frawnces she des natchully hates Miss Gerry like 
pison, bekase Miss Gerry, she’s young, an’ harn- 
some, an’ de pictur ob health. But,” he stopped, 
mortified and petulant, feeling that he was betray- 
ing the secrets of his house, “here I is, des like er 
fetched fule, dat karnt hole his tongue — an’ talkin’ 


•^8 


UNCLE PHIL. 


’bout dat what ain’t no bis’ness ob hisen, an’^” men- 
daciously trying to rehabilitate his statements, ^^tell- 
in’ ontruths ; fer de good Lordy in heben knows dat 
dar ain’t nuthin’ de marter wid nobody, an’ dat Miss 
Frawnces an’ Marse Kobert, an’ Miss Gerry, an’ our 
young gemplemen — befo’ dey went erway — was des 
as lovin’ an’ kine as could be. But Miss Frawnces, 
she is er little dilikit, fer a fac’.” 

It was now clear to Mr. Smith there was nothing 
he could do, but in his heart there rose a great ten- 
derness for his old friend, as one on whom the Al- 
mighty hand was heavily laid. 

^^Come, Kobert,” said Smith, linking his arm 
within that of Colonel Southampton, ^det’s take a 
walk.” 

Together the two men strolled over the fine, firm 
sand around the smooth curve of the bay. They had 
not proceeded far before meeting with — well, he 
was in the form of a man, and showed a notable de- 
sire to appear well under the disadvantages so evi- 
dent that the different articles of his attire had 
been contributed at different times by different peo- 
ple. A dress hat, nearly new, was set jauntily on 
his head, and so tilted on one side that it retained 
its place only by the force of habit. He was a poor 
unfortunate with an alienated mind. 

“How are you, Mac?” said Colonel Southampton 
kindly, as they passed him. 

“I wonder,” said Smith, “if when the world goes 


UNCLE PHIL. 


79 


too hard there is not some compensation in the loss 
of the mind?’’ 

^^Good God ! no,” was the hasty reply. ^^Anything 
but that. Not one of us can tell what the future 
may bring. Prosperity is easy borne, needing no 
special preparation. But when adversity comes, 
then is wanted a clear mind to meet it as a man 
should.” 

Turning from the bay, they walked on, leaving 
the town in their rear. The two men were silent. 
For both of them the look-ahead was fraught with 
grave awe. It is only the young who with their elas- 
tic spirits and buoyant hopes can look far into 
futurity and see away in the distance the open por- 
tals of the shining gates — and fair as a dream, the 
land beyond. But they will not read the placards 
by the way, danger signals, warning against forbid- 
den fruits. No, the Dead Sea apples are golden — 
and the bitter flavor each one must taste for him- 
self, learning the difficult lesson to discern the true 
from the false. 

Smith was filled with admiration as he gazed 
upon the forest of stately, dark, gloomy oaks ; silent 
.sentinels, standing where they had stood for cen- 
turies — and by their magnificence defying the ruth- 
less axe. Then they began talking over the old col- 
lege days; of the hopes and aspirations in which 
they then indulged. 

^Tou were always a steady chap, Paul,” said Colo- 


so 


UNCLE PHIL. 


nel Southampton, ‘^carrying plenty of ballast, and 
have made your mark; while I, w^anting the sand- 
bags, have drifted along with the shifting winds, 
and have accomplished nothing to be proud of.” 

^^True,” was the answer ; have made money, but 
that seems a poor life-work — there are no pockets in 
shrouds. You have at least enjoyed to the full what 
are called the pleasures of life, which I have never 
taken time to do. And now, I fear it is too late to 
overcome old habits ; yet, I confess to you, Eobert, I 
would, if I could, feel an interest in that which in- 
terests others; also, don^t laugh at me, I should 
dearly love to participate in their amusements. You 
have no idea how out of place I feel among gay, 
young people — like a marline-spike in a drawing- 
room.” 

^Taul, Paul, dear old boy!” said Colonel South- 
ampton affectionately, ^^there is not so much in it 
as you think — everything that glitters is not gold — 
and there is many a smiling face above a tired, 
worn-out heart.” 

Smith thought he heard a sigh, and slipping his 
arm free, he passed it round his friend’s neck in the 
old boyish way. 

^^Eobert,” said he, have more money than I can 
use, or know what to do with — I want you to take 
some.” 

Colonel Southampton’s face flushed. 

^'Paul/’ said }io repro?ichfully, ^^another mau 


UNCLE PHIL. 


81 


would not have so insulted me.” Seeing his friend^s 
hurt look, he hastened to add, ‘^Don’t mind me, 
Paul — I am always too quick tempered. I thank you 
for the offer so kindly meant. I have no debts, and 
I make a good deal of money if I do spend a good 
deal. While I live I can take care of Mrs. South- 
ampton and Gerry. After me, my sons will, I have 
no doubt, do their duty.” 

Then, as if dashing care violently to the winds 
by an effort of will, his face assumed its rare smile, 
and he began entertaining Smith with that brilliant 
flow of conversation for which he had always been 
so remarkable. 

Weeks succeeded weeks, and Paul Smith lingered. 
And while no one could guess, hidden away under 
his grave, reserved demeanor — not at all suggestive 
of spoons — the depth of his passion for Geraldine 
Southampton, it was there all the same. Yet neither 
by word nor look had he sought to convey the fact 
to her. 

Do not blame him too much for wasting precious 
time in considering the pros et cons, whether 
or not ^flt would do” — for her sake as well as his 
own. There was not only the disparity of years, 
but widely differing as the two poles were their 
two natures. Of his influence over her he was con^ 
scions, but there came an intrusive question: 
^Would it be permanent?” Of this he would have 
felt p. ^trPPg^r pssqrance but for the existence of 


82 


UNCLE PHIL. 


Charley Wood. Again the intrusive question makes 
itself heard : “Is it in the heart of woman to prefer 
a battered old hulk like me to that handsome, gal- 
lant young officer?’^ — these were honest moments. 

About the sex he knew little, and if he had ever 
heard, he had long ago forgotten : 

“Who shall dictate to a woman’s fancy, or reduce 
to rule the wandering inclinations of a woman’s 
heart?” 

He did not know that the woman who is true to 
the instincts of her sex is seldom attracted by the 
mere comeliness of a man. She looks upon the 
mbst regular of profiles with indifference. Even 
beauty like unto that of Absalom (who was with- 
out fiaw from the crown of his head to the soles 
of his feet), she turns from with an unadmiring 
eye. And her tenderest attentions are oftenest di- 
rected toward an object, for no reason on earth 
that her friends can see, and who are lost in won- 
der at her perversion of judgment. 

The wish to be happy is the natural desire of 
every human being, and with the exceptions to 
prove the rule, there is great unanimity in the opin- 
ion that happiness is best secured by 

** — the love of man and woman, 

When they love their best, closest, and sweetest.” 

Of the importance of making judicious selections, 
much has been said arid written by those who ap- 


GNCLE PHIL. 


83 


parently understood the subject. Yet the world 
grows no wiser, and mistakes are continually made. 

That “it is better to dwell on a house-top than 
with a brawling woman” is certain. And it is equal- 
ly certain that an exceedingly tame woman is never 
highly prized, and frequently subjected to indig- 
nity. But the world is wide, and women are plenty, 
and like stars differ in glory, and it should not be 
difficult to find the precise one to suit every fancy. 

The proper time to love has also been a theme of 
discussion. Plato, who had many thoughts on 
many subjects, and is still allowed to be a deep 
thinker, thought that “love was best learned late in 
life.” 

Mr. Smith, who consistently adhered to his own 
ideas, did not bother himself about the experiences 
of others, pleasant or otherwise, and endeavored 
to work out the problem for himself in his own 
heart, making of it an odd sort of debatable ground 
sufficiently disquieting, but as a bait sent from 
Lucifer for his destruction, the evil suggestion rose : 
“She might marry me for my money.” 

“Money is the root of evil,” so says the Book of 
Books, and no one can spend long years absorbed 
in its accumulation without imbibing something of 
its evil taint. 

Mr. Smith wrestled with the idea, so unworthy 
of him, and thought he had put it to fiight. But 
there was Gerry's persistent sisterly blandish- 


84 


UNCLE PHIL. 


ments toward Captain Wood that tormented him 
continually. And, so — ah ! who can tell when 
the armies within the human soul are contending, 
admirably fighting on all sides, what the issue of 
the Armageddon will be? ^^Best to give her up! 
Best to give her up !” said Mr. Smith, slowly, then 
with the fire of youth he broke out : “By the Lord ! 
I can’t.” 


UNCLE PHIL. 


85 


CHAPTER VIL 

TEA DRINKING. 

“Golden, or gray, 

Tell me, I pray. 

What is the light of my luck to-day.” 

The Custom House in its prevailing character- 
istic was the reverse of loneliness, yet on one after- 
noon when Mr. Smith returned from a stroll he had 
been making — of late he had been rather given to 
solitary rambles — it seemed unaccountably dull. 
He mentioned this to Uncle Phil, who was employ- 
ing himself usefully in sweeping the long corridor. 

^^Yes,” he answered, ^dt^s bekase of Miss Gerry. 
She’s bin gone mor’n er hour, an’ when she ain’t 
here I kin’er feel it in de a’r — an’ it don’t ’pear ter 
me dat de sun shines de same.” 

Smith resisted an inclination to ask where she 
had gone, but voluntarily Uncle Phil gave the infor- 
mation. 

^^She is. Miss Gerry is, gone ter wisit Dona Dis- 
gustin Manyo.” 

^^Dona Augustia Hemeno, you mean,” said 
Smith, who had heard of that beautiful Spanish 
lady, who, when her countrymen were in arms re- 
sisting the United States troops, went to her church 


86 


UNCLE PHIL. 


and took a solemn oath that she would not dance 
again until she could wear a necklace of American 
ears. The grewsome necklace was never hers, and 
she had learned to be happy without it. 

“Dat’s what I said,” replied Uncle Phil with dig- 
nity. “An^ Miss Gerry she thinks lots oh dese Kal- 
iforny folkes, an’ dey thinks lots ob her, an’ Miss 
Gerry she lowed dat she mought keep on an’ drap 
in onter Senora Abrigo fer er dish er tea — char, dey 
call it here. But dese Kaliforny folkes neber wus 
in Wirginny; an’ it ain’t fa’r ter suspect too much 
ob dem. It’s mos’ time now fer Miss Gerry ter be 
on her way back; an’ ef y’u wus ter wander roun’ 
kinder permiscus it wouldn’t ’sprise me none ef 
y’u was ter hab er chaunce ter fetch her home.” 

believe I will step down to the Washington 
Hotel and see who is there,” said Smith, non-com- 
mittal about the proposed promiscuous wandering. 
He turned to walk away. And Uncle Phil resumed 
his sweeping, which had been suspended, mutter- 
ing : “Dat ar gempleman, as it ’pears ter me, don’t 
axactly stan’ under de persition — but pre-haps it is 
on de keards fer him ter larn,” he chuckled. 

In communing with himself as he stepped along 
Mr. Smith admitted to himself that he not only 
hoped to meet Miss Southampton, but also hoped 
for a tete k tete walk with her ; though it would be 
something in the nature of a miracle to find her not 
surrounded by a posse of “numskulls/’ as he per- 


mCLE PHIL. 87 

sistently classed Miss Gerry’s admirers, with one 
solitary exception — ^himself. 

With disdain, he would have repudiated any and 
all reliances on ^duck,” the bugbear of weak minds ; 
yet with a hope to be favored by some bon chance 
he attentively scanned each house that he passed — 
tiendas and dwellings frankly intermixing — until 
in the distance he saw a large, adobe house, with 
wide open door, and windows thrown up. This 
was unusual with the native Californians, who do 
not prefer to enjoy al fresco in their houses, and 
had a suggestion of Gerry. He was not what could 
be called a brisk walker, yet his steady, even strides 
soon brought him on even terms with the objective 
point, and he could see, sitting at one end of a long 
table, in the middle of the room k la pais. Miss 
Southampton and a half-dozen other ladies. They 
were huddled close together, and having tea. 

Nearly opposite was a vacant house. All houses 
in Bonito intended for commercial uses have out- 
side adobe seats, for possible customers to repose 
upon, also on which the proprietor can repose while 
waiting for customers. Here Mr. Smith halted; 
there was no need to go further. So he sat down 
on the adobe bench, took out a Havana, which he 
lighted, and began puffing. Such a procedure was 
too common an occurrence to attract attention. 
An inland breeze coming straight over from the big 
live oaks brought upon its accommodating bosom 


^8 


UNCLE PHIL. 


the tones of the talkers, making their conversation 
audible. 

Listening to the conversation not intended for 
one is not comme il faut, and sometimes entails un- 
pleasant results. But on this occasion nobody was 
hurt, and Mr. Smith listened with the greatest en- 
joyment to the gay babbling sustained principally 
by Miss Southampton. He had before been struck 
by the quality of her voice, so clear and sweet, and 
a habit of dwelling on her vowels gave to her tones 
the liquid melody of a flute far out at sea. 

Their innocent fun, not boisterous, but genuinely 
amusing, had its effect on him, a man not easily 
amused. His heart softened to the degree that the 
sitting of the Land Commissioners at Los Angeles, 
whose decision would affect his title to large tracts 
of land, and the business of the line of Australian 
steamers which he owned, no longer seemed para- 
mount; his mind dwelling with strange insistence 
on the pleasure of having that bright young daugh- 
ter of his old friend to sit en permanence at his own 
board. She had never appeared to him quite so 
charming. This foregathering with her own sex 
with such hearty enjoyment was to him a nqw 
phase in her character. 

Tea was to Mr. Smith an abomination, even as the 
flesh of the swine to the Israelites; yet he became 
conscious of an inclination to join the tea-drinkers, 


UNCLE PHIL. 


89 


and, diffidence being an unknown quality, he was 
about to cross over and beg a cup. 

But some one was there before him. Senora 
Vallejo — her son was then in the State Senate — 
was stopping at the door by which lay her route. 
She, too, had been attracted by the appearances 
within. ^^Buenos tardes, mis amigas.’^ 

There was a general uprising. The native Cali- 
fornians are extremely deferential to the aged. 

With a quick movement Miss Southampton ad- 
vances to meet the new-comer, and murmuring 
“Madre mia,” greets her d la pais, pressing her 
fresh young cheek to the withered old face — even 
so might that fair Jewish maiden have cherished 
her ancient king — and leaning on that strong, 
young arm the old lady comes forward and takes 
her place at the table, which the others have been 
so busy in arranging. Miss Gerry brings her tea, 
and supplies her with the little sweet cakes and 
other dutiful attention, which age receives with so 
much pleasure from the hands of youth. 

After this interlude the cheerful talk again rip- 
ples. 

Mr. Smith decides not to intrude, resigning him- 
self to remain for the present where he was, with 
something of the Peri-outside-the-gate feeling. Pres- 
ently the clatter of tea-cups ceased to make way for 
another feature of the entertainment. He dis- 


00 


UNCLE PHIL. 


tinctly hears Senora Abrigo’s call, ^^Trae lumbre, 
Mariquita.” 

Smith shudders, well knowing what is to follow. 
His heart sinks and hardens, yet he watches, and 
listens, and hopes, to see the cigarettes declined by 
at least one of the company. His hope was falla- 
cious. Not only did Miss Southampton possess her- 
self of a cigarette, but her manner was not unac- 
customed. It was easy and business-like, as with 
educated fingers she rapidly prepared the cigarette 
for her lips — a manufacturer of cigarettes could 
hardly have been more deft. 

Mr. Smith was stirred to anger, and said mental- 
ly: “I’ll tell her father! But what would be the 
use?” he added; “that infatuated gentleman can 
see no fiaw in his idol.” 

There are certain substances naturally hard and 
unyielding that on the application of emollients 
become ductile; but harden again when the favoring 
conditions are withdrawn. Mr. Smith’s gentler feel- 
ings did not at once congeal entirely ; but they had, 
so to speak, received a blow between the eyes. And 
he repeated the same question which he had so often 
asked himself: “Will it do?” 

He held to safe, traditional opinions, and it was 
contrary to his most fundamental rules for self-gov- 
ernment to decide any question of importance by 
impulse. His reason had all along indicated to him 
that it were better to occupy the neutral ground 


tlNCLE PHIL. 


01 


between love and friendship, the position of a qnasi- 
paternal relative. But argue as he would, that posi- 
tion seemed singularly unsatisfying. 

The old Adam element is hard to eradicate; and 
he could not remain insensible to the attractive 
charm of her unique personality. Her beauty was 
replete with the animating principle imparted by 
warm blood and a quick brain. Nor could he re- 
press the desire for her possession. Life would be 
so cold, so undesirable without her. He pondered 
for fifty consecutive seconds, then he decided to 
cross the Kubicon, and boldly ask her to marry 
him. 

Presently he heard Miss Southampton say, ^^Yo 
me voy,’’ and it was with feelings of relief that he 
heard her decline the entreaties to remain longer. 
^^No es posible ahora; es menester que voya d mi 
casa. Volverd muy pronto. Buenas tardes — hasta 
luego amigas de mi corazon.” How cheerily her 
adieux sounded. 

She was at once joined by Smith. 

^‘Miss Gerry,’^ he said, “under instruction from 
Uncle Phil, I have been wandering around per- 
miscus for a chaunce to fetch you home.’^ 

“I suppose,’^ she answered gayly, “that Uncle 
Phil entered into all sorts of recognizances that I 
would keep the peace?’’ 

“Indeed he did not. I am on my own errand, 
and if I fail there is no shame in going down be- 


9 ^ 


tTNCLE MIL. 


fore so strong a lance.” His tones lowered, and 
softened miraculously, making every word a caress. 
‘‘I am going to ask you a plain question.” 

It is no wonder that Smithes heart should beat 
exultingly at the bright, beautiful flush that over- 
spread Gerry^s face, and that he should have lost 
his head and spoken as the spirit moved him — only 
an interruption occurred. Not a band of fierce bar- 
barians as witnessed by young Norval, but a band 
of gay officers came trooping down the hill from 
the fort. 

At the sight of Miss Southampton they gave a 
subdued view-hallo, and charged in a body. 

Gerry is too happy not to be on good terms with 
all the world, and greets them pleasantly. Mr. 
Smith smothers a malediction, and remembers an 
engagement elsewhere. 

After making up his mind to the sticking place, 
Mr. Smith is not one to “woo like a snail,” yet op- 
portunities did not serve, and the most unconven- 
tional of men are averse to telling their tales of love 
in public. The influx of visitors to that popular 
house was continuous ; to pass a half-hour with Miss 
Gerry was a pleasant divertisement. 

Mr. Smith was not a patient gentleman, and it 
was against his habits to be balked in any of his 
desires; the waiting policy was to him singularly 
distasteful. Therefore, if opportunities would not 
make themselves, he would make them. Throwing 


tNCLS PHIL. 


93 


down the newspaper he had been impolitely read- 
ing, and unmindful of the presence of the dozen or 
more officers — army and navy commingled — and, 
without using one of the many flowers of rhetoric 
in frequent use by well-bred people to avoid the 
appearance of being abrupt, he said with a direct- 
ness that was undoubtedly the offspring of sincer- 
ity : ‘^Miss Southampton, I am told that the mack- 
erel have come into the bay in schools, and that it 
is entertaining to flsh for them from the deck of the 
old McKim. Will you go fishing with me this after- 
noon?’’ 

“Yes. I will go fishing with you,” she answered, 
raising her brown eyes shyly, and a tender smile 
came to her lips as she watched the somewhat bulky 
figure leave the room. 

In a moment the fair earth seemed invested with 
new beauties. Never before had the sunlight 
flooded the distant mountains across the bay with 
such glad brightness. Wide open were the gates 
of Paradise, and within them she was going to en- 
ter. But this contemplation was ill-timed, and all 
too brief. 

One of the polished gentlemen — the insignia on 
his buttons showing that he belonged to the naval 
service of Uncle Sam — was not without experience, 
and understood the situation, and after the man- 
ner of his kind felt the pangs of envy, which die- 


94 


UNCLE PHIL. 


tated with unwarrantable promptness the follow- 
ing: 

^^Miss Southampton, I am told that the mackerel 
have come into the bay in schools, and that it is 
entertaining to fish for them from the deck of the 
old McKim. Will you go fishing with me — ^to-mor- 
row afternoon 

Miss Gerry’s eyes were brilliant with anger, as 
they rested on the speaker. 

“No. I will not go fishing with you any after- 
noon.” 

“Sorry,” murmured the gentleman plaintively. 

The auspicious life of this young girl had af- 
fected her manners royally, and without hesitation 
she rose to announce this audience at an end, feel- 
ing impatient to be alone with her happiness. 

Her world had been an exceptional one; the 
rough corners had been rounded and her paths 
made smooth. And, though living in an atmosphere 
of adulation, she was perfectly fancy-free until so 
lately, when she had come under the spell of a na- 
ture so hard, strong and unyielding that her own 
imperious will recognized its suzerain. At first she 
had raised the standard of revolt, yet it was fight- 
ing naked and unarmed against an adversary 
clothed in steel. No wonder she was beaten at 
every point, and that she had lain down her arms, 
conquered. She was without worldly wisdom, and 
unconscious that a woman has lost some of her 


UNCLE PHIL. 


95 


best natural rights when a man can ask the honor 
of her hand with the hope that has merged into 
certainty. 

The gentlemen thus arbitrarily dismissed, though 
favorable specimens, it is needless to say, when at 
a safe distance smiled, laughed. 

‘^Never saw such pluck in a man in my life,” said 
a young lieutenant, fumbling in his pocket for a 
cigar. “But perhaps that elderly individual knew 
his grounds, which we of the younger sort frequent- 
ly do not.” 

“Eight you are,” supplemented a pragmatical 
captain, “and your last remark is replete with phil- 
osophy. I had no idea how intellectual you are. 
We never half appreciated you, mon cher.” 

“It is my wish,” observed another one of these 
gentlemen, “to express my inner views of the esclan- 
dre. I disapprove of any so public demonstrations ; 
they touch me in a tender place. But in this in- 
stance the unusual freshness appealed to my bet- 
ter feelings. And but for inviting calamity — the 
fortitur in re appears to be untempered by the 
suaviton in modo in that ancient Borneo — I would 
have enacted the heavy father and said, ^Bless you 
my children.’ I have a feeling somewhere about 
me that I could have done it extremely well, con- 
sidering my want of experience in the paternal 
line.” 

“I am youngs but I, too^ have my thoughts/’ said 


96 


UNCLE PHIL. 


a trim subaltern. “I think it a confounded piece of 
work, look at it how you will. Here is the hand- 
somest woman in California — or anywhere else — 
perfectly adamant to us good-looking, agreeable, 
youngish fellows, gobbled at sight by that bad-tem- 
pered, uncivil Methuselah.” 

^^Our young one is hard hit,” suavely commented 
a brass-buttoned gentleman, whose locks had taken 
on a tinge of gray. 

“Nothing of the sort; only I know a beautiful 
woman when I see one,” replied the young officer, 
assuming a rigidity of spine denoting defence, if 
not offence. “Thank God, I can look on a pretty 
woman without thinking of the sacrament of matri- 
mony.” 

“When you are older, my dear young sir,” re- 
sponded the affable senior, “these light afflictions 
will have lost their gravity, and to fall out of love 
will be as easy as to fall in. And always there is 
the consolation, you are one eligible bachelor left.” 

A gentleman who had hitherto been silent now 
saw an opening, and, being somewhat of a theatri- 
cal turn, raising his arm in a declamatory style, he 
enunciated: “Caesar had his Brutus, Charles I. 
his Cromwell, and Miss Southampton her Smith.” 

“Don’t be a fool,” advised the young subaltern, 
with admirable promptness and decision. 


UNCLE PHIL. 


97 


CHAPTEK VIII. 

“I WILL BE TRUE TO YOU TILL I DIE.'’ 

*‘If it were now to die, ’twere now to be most happy; for 
I fear my soul hath her content so absolute 
That not another comfort like to this succeeds in unknown 
fate.” 

Never in her life had Geraldine Southampton 
been so silent and quiet as when she walked beside 
Mr. Smith toward the small boat waiting for them 
at the pier. 

Smith was serious by nature, now he was abnor- 
mally so. To tell the truth, he was mentally won- 
dering, “Will it do?’’ He had wrestled with that 
question till it had almost assumed the visible 
shape of a personal enemy — a devil come for his 
torment. 

Of his own feelings he was quite sure; but what 
of hers? Could this young creature in her heart 
of hearts love him? Or, if she thought she did now, 
would she in the future? And to save his life he 
could not help wishing the gallant young Charley 
Wood out of the way. “God forgive me !” was his 
thought ; “but I do wish the Indians had killed him.” 
With these reflections, so unsuited to a lover, they 
reached the pier^ and Smith offered his hand to 


98 


UNCLE PHIL. 


assist her to descend the steps. Cui bono, when 
she could go down them blindfold, backward, any- 
way. She could even spring down with such ac- 
curacy of judgment as to reduce the danger of cap- 
sizing the boat to a minimum. But such caprices 
would be looked upon by Mr. Smith with displeas- 
ure, and to resist his will did not seem to her pos- 
sible. 

When her foot touched the boat she made for 
the tiller, and, sitting down, passed the ropes about 
her waist, smiling. 

am going to steer,’^ said Mr. Smith. 

He did not mean to be uncivil — far from it. Only 
the chaotic nature of his thoughts so disquieted him 
that unconsciously his tones were tinctured with a 
metallic ring, by no means suited to the occasion. 

Gerry was no longer smiling. The oarsmen were 
Kanaka Jack and Uncle Phil. The latter briskly 
came to the aid of his young lady. 

^^Set still. Miss Gerry. Kite dar is whar Miss 
Gerry always sets,” he said in tones equally as de- 
cided as Mr. Smith’s, and far more belligerent, and 
at the same time, by the dexterous use of his oar, 
he gave such a lurch to the boat that Mr. Smith 
was forced to sit quickly down to save himself from 
dropping over into the water. 

This little incident did not encourage cheerful 
conversation, and few remarks were made until 
they reached the dismantled McKim. Attached to 


UNCI.E PHIL. 


99 


her side were stationary steps, to which Kanaka 
Jack promptly bent his oar to steady the boat. 
Smith stood up and, placing his arm on the lower 
step to form a sort of railing — only one person at 
a time could ascend on the narrow steps — Gerry 
hung back, saying, ^^Despues V.” 

^^Gemplemens always goes up sta’r steps fust. 
Dat’s de way dey do in Wirginny,” communicated 
Uncle Phil; his tones expressing displeasure and a 
certain contempt. 

Mr. Smith acknowledged himself instructed, and 
passed up. Gerry followed light as a bird. 

^^Is we got ter wait here, or kin we go back?’’ in- 
quired Uncle Phil, making his meaning clear that 
he did not wish to linger with his small craft bob- 
bing uneasily around the barnacle-encrusted old 
sailer.” 

^^You can go back,” said Smith, ^^and return for 
us when you see a signal.” 

By reason of Miss Southampton’s unprece- 
dented silence. Kanaka Jack’s Hawaiian soul was 
troubled — he considered the ground on which she 
walked fit for idolatry — and, looking over his shoul- 
der, excitedly expressed himself: Missie Gerry 
plenty mad. Don’t want go fish wid old cuss.” 

Uncle Phil also was pervaded by sentiments of 
dissatisfaction, and answered sharply. “Shet y’u 
mouf, an’ keep it shot, What y’u know ’bout white 
folkeS?” L-urC. 


100 


UNCLE PHIL. 


The decks of the old vessel were not new to ex- 
cursionists. Others had been there before them, 
and it were easy to find seats had they been inclined. 
Indeed, two boxes, one labeled butter crackers and 
the other labeled old Cognac, were suggestively near 
one to the other ; but they were not occupied ; and 
Miss Southampton, who had never known timidity 
or embarrassment in her life, was now under the 
dominion of both; and her bright eyes, always so 
frankly, fearlessly uplifted, now looked downward ; 
while it must be confessed, the attitude of her com- 
panion was uncompromisingly cold, and he seemed 
lost in thought. 

But he was not thinking of that other woman, 
who had dismissed him with so much sang froid, 
but of this woman here present. He considered 
her the most incomparable woman in the world. A 
woman like the fiower of the aloe, blooming but 
once in a century. 

Most men recover from a first disappointment — 
yes, from a first dozen; after which, such disap- 
pointments lose their soul-wringing, appetite-de- 
stroying character. But the pent-up emotions of 
this man’s heart had not escaped by the easy chan- 
nels of passing loves. They were yet stored within 
his breast, and strongly barred, and yet under his 
control ; but, if liberated, who could foretell the re- 
sult? Would the future be of exceeding happiness, 
the mere contemplation of which thrilled him from 


UNCLE PHIL. 


101 


head to foot? Or would the time come when he 
would see weariness in her eyes, and a shrinking 
from his embrace. In such a Pavia as that, all 
would be lost. Mr. Smith had always entertained 
a profound sympathy for Othello. Not so much 
for his hasty jealousy, causing him to murder when 
he loved, but that he should have been so supreme- 
ly unfortunate. He knew himself to be but a rough 
man, and he feared for her happiness with him. 

It is only when we are carrying something rare 
and precious that the difficulties of the road excite 
apprehension. Would it not be better even now 
to draw back than to selfishly link his life with 
hers — her bright life that had never known a care? 
He felt that he was not worthy of her. “But then 
who is?^’ he asked himself, “and I can at least give 
her an honest man’s love — and I cannot give her 
up.” 

Almost timidly he glanced at Gerry as she stood 
holding in her hand some clustered hooks and strips 
of bright-hued cloth. There seemed an air of de- 
jection about her. 

With deliberation he fastened portions of red flan- 
nel to his hooks, and, dropping the line over into 
the water, he made the end fast to the bulwark. 
Then going to Gerry he said : 

“Will you not let me help you with your hooks?” 

Beaching the hooks to him, she said shyly : 

“It seems very ungenerous to catch three or four 


102 


UNCLE PHIL. 


of the poor creatures, all at one time, under the 
delusion of red flannel.” 

am glad,” he replied, ^^that you have scruples 
against taking ungenerous adyantages. Creatures, 
other than mackerel, are often deluded to their 
hurt.” 

A pause ensued. And they looked into each 
other’s eyes even as two souls that searching one 
for the other had wandered for ages in the blue 
empyrean, and having met, pause for a glance of 
mutual recognition. Alas ! if a passing cloud cast 
its shadow, and they pass on, never to meet again. 

Something deterrent seemed to rise up between 
Gerry and her lover. Invisible hands seemed hold- 
ing them apart. And they, too, might have sepa- 
rated, each to take a different road, but for an acci- 
dent. 

Accidents determine many things. Many battles 
— more than the greatest generals would be willing 
to admit — have been lost and won by an unforeseen 
occurrence, fortuitous or adverse. 

The old McKim had not been left well anchored, 
and, rocked by both wind and waves, had so shifted 
her ballast that her decks inclined to seaward al- 
most like the roof of a house. And a sudden lurch 
occasioned by some submarine disturbance threw 
Gerry forward, and she would have fallen prone 
had not the strong arm of Smith interposed. There 
was hesitation no longer; he clasped her in hi$ 


mCLE PHIL. 


105 


arms and pressed her to his breast. There was si- 
lence while you might have counted ten, then her 
sweet pure lips had lost their virginity. 

‘^What a great, awkward girl I am,’’ said Gerry, 
blushing crimson, and withdrawing herself from 
the encircling arms. ‘T might have knocked you 
into the bay.” 

should have taken you with me,” he answered 
with the utmost propriety. ^^Come, my Gerry, let 
us let the mackerel alone. We will talk.” The cog- 
nac box and the cracker box were pushed close to- 
gether and put into immediate use. But Mr. Smith 
did not talk ; he remained strangely silent ; yet not 
strangely, for the hush was universal. A sultriness 
was in the air, giving the feeling as though one 
could hear a great distance; the silence was abso- 
lute, even the pelicans were silent. 

When Gerry and Mr. Smith set forth the sky 
was cloudless, and the bowlders which jutted out 
on one side of the bay were revealed in sharp out- 
lines, as if clear-cut with hammer and chisel. Leav- 
ing these rocks, the bay began its magnificent curve 
without a single indentation of the low-lying sand, 
against which the gentle waves lapped with a soft 
murmuring pur. Inland lay a stretch of sand, on 
which pebbles and many-hued shells glint under 
the glare of the sun like veritable gems. Farther 
back from the bay slight elevations arise ; these are 
only foot-hills, but they rise higher and higher re- 


104 


UNCLE PHIL. 


ceding from the water, until they become spurs of 
the Coast Range, over which a darkness was slowly 
gathering. 

And had those two infatuated souls only have 
looked, they would have seen the cloud-masses 
merge with the blackness of night over the crest of 
the distant mountains, then to move rapidly in their 
direction, as if to bring punishment, prompt and 
severe, on two mortals who on this lower earth 
dared to feel absolutely happy. 

All unconscious that a storm of unusual magni- 
tude was near, or of the passing of time — there are 
no clocks in paradise — Gerry sat with her head 
uncovered, her hat had fallen off. The crimson 
flush had left her cheeks, leaving only a soft, tender 
pink, and in her drooping eyes there was a world of 
wistful expectancy. Surely this man of few words 
would now speak the words she had so longed to 
hear from him, that he loved her. 

But he did not speak; he only looked upon her 
with an expression, the intensity of which she could 
not read. 

Still silent, and as in absentmindedness, he 
plucked away her comb, letting her hair fall around 
her in its rich abundance. 

Seeing some red strands in the dark mass, he 
found voice to say : 

^Why, you just escaped being a red-haired 
lassie.’^ 


UNCLE PHtL. 


105 


^^Don^t you like red hair?^’ she asked. ^^And,” 
again the crimson tide swept over neck and brow, 
^^you have not said that you liked me.’’ 

“I don’t like you,” he answered promptly. 
thought you understood, child! But I love you 
more than my life,” a wild joy thrilled through his 
being, the freshness and richness of her beauty 
filled him with a passionate delight, and the deep 
ecstacy of knowing that she was his, and his only. 
^^Oh, Gerry!” he cried, impetuously, ‘^do not be 
faithless to me. I shall lose all the world if I lose 
you.” 

“I will love you till I die — and I will be faithful 
to you.” 

‘^Will you swear it,” he demanded, almost rough- 

ly- 

“Yes,” she replied, without a moment’s pause. 

Impetuously he threw himself on his knees and 
eagerly, perhaps roughly, pulled her down beside 
him. 

“Let us, here and now, plight our troths before 
high heaven and the angels — then you dare not 
escape from me.” 

She placed her hand within his clasp — her great, 
brown eyes luminous and solemn — and repeated as 
dictated by him : “I will be — I am — your true wife 
forever and forever. So help me God.” 

“And God witness,” he cried aloud, as if in tri- 
umph. “I declare myself your husband. And let 


106 


UNCLE PHIL. 


the flames of hell be the portion of any who 
should seek to divide us.” 

He quivered from the intensity of his feelings. 
When strongly curbed passions are unbound, set 
free, there comes a joy that almost kills. He did 
not recover calmness until she had lifted her sweet 
young lips for his kiss. The seal of a marriage made 
in heaven, uniting indestructibly the co-existing mu- 
tual love. 

Putting his hand in his pocket he brought out a 
bracelet; it was not a lady^s ordinary trinket; but 
one designed by himself and made of stout links. 

^^See, Gerry, here are my fetters; will you wear 
them?” 

She extended her wrist, and in truth she was 
fettered. The bracelet was locked and the key 
thrown into the deep waters of the bay. 

^^Get up, darling, and sit beside me,” his tones 
were very tender. wish I were more worthy of 
you. You must forgive my roughness, Gerry. I 
could not be content with only a mere promise. 
You cannot imagine the depth of my love for you, 
and how the presentiment has plagued me that 
something would come between us. But it is all 
gone now — quite gone.” 

And twenty years seemed to have dropped from 
his age, he seemed so gay. The fond words which 
had hitherto refused to come were very plentiful 
now; and it was Gerry who was the silent one. 


UNCLE PHIL. 


107 


She answered no words until, with a sudden im- 
pulse, she passed her arm around his neck and, lay- 
ing her delicate cheek on his broad breast, mur- 
mured : would like to die now, this minute, I 

am so happy.” 

^^Life never till now seemed to me so worth the 
living,” he answers joyously. “I now have all I 
care for — all I have longed for. And, oh, Gerry,” 
he confesses, shamefacedly, “I have loved you 
from the first moment I saw you writing in the of- 
fice of the collector of customs.” 

^^Did you?” she cries rapturously, and instantly 
believing him. “And I never dreamed it. I thought 
you disliked me, and all the time I could not help 
caring for you — and I felt so humbled, I — oh ! — ah !” 
These exclamations were caused by a crash of 
thunder, seemingly overhead, and a vivid flash of 
lightning revealing three or four pelicans, with 
wild screams flying about and falling whack on the 
deck. “Oh ! we must get back.” 

This was impossible, even had the small boat be- 
longing to the Custom House been there, which it 
was not; it could not have lived a moment in the 
tremendous surf that rolled between them and the 
shore, where, through the lightning’s gleams, could 
be seen a group of figures excitedly gesticulating. 
Gerry could recognize her father. 

Ah! since the creation, when Adam and Eve 
brought sin and its burden of sorrow on the fair 


108 


UNCLE PHIL. 


earth, which we inhabit only as strangers and pil- 
grims, no one can say, I am happy, without speedily 
falling into the hands of a pursuing Nemesis. 

With all of life’s pleasures it is ever Ave ! et vale I 

“What a beast I have been,” cried Smith, “not 
to have observed this storm approaching, and got 
you ashore.” 

“I am not afraid of the storm,” answered Gerry 
quickly. “It is rather nice to be rained upon, hav- 
ing you here, all by myself, to sit beside me.” 

Bitterly Smith hurled imprecations and re- 
proaches upon himself while he sheltered her in his 
arms as well as he could, and together they crouched 
down by the coils of old cordage, which afforded 
some slight protection from the winds. 

The uproar of the tempest prevented anything 
like conversation, although Gerry did her best to 
scream back consolation, in answer to his shouted 
self-accusings. 

Meanwhile the storm increased. The decks were 
now nearly covered with sea-fowls, unmindful of 
and not fearing human presence. The rain, which 
had been in fitful gusts, now descended in torrents 
with the roar of a cataract. A blaze of lightning 
so vivid that it seemed to wrap the whole world 
in a sheet of dazzling flame preceded a crash of 
thunder loud as the discharge of a thousand can- 
nons. The ship, which had shrieked and moaned 
like a tortured, living thing, straining at her fas- 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


m 

tenings, now sprang forward like a liberated cap- 
tive. She had parted with her anchors, and now 
in the teeth of the tempest was flying out to the open 
sea. 

Smith’s face was white with horror as he looked 
into Gerry’s eyes by the lightning’s gleam. 

She only smiled. Her head was lying on his 
breast. She was ready and willing to die with him. 
She at least could emulate the swans, who, perceiv- 
ing the great advantage there is in death, die sing- 
ing with joy. 

The ship flew on, on, until nearing the Point at 
the mouth of the bay, then she was struck by coun- 
ter gales and hurtled back with force so irresistible 
that she seemed to wallow like a wounded animal 
in the white waves, until beached not a stone’s 
throw from the Custom House. 

Smith and Gerry were soon got ashore, where, it 
is safe to say, all the male inhabitants of Bonito 
were assembled. 

Gerry sprang to her father. Her fresh young 
voice rang cheerily : “Sorry to have frightened you 
so, papa, but we couldn’t help it. Could we — Mr. 
Smith?” 

Colonel Southampton rarely exhibited his deep 
feelings, but his face convulsed strangely as he 
gasped : “Thank God I oh, thank God ! for giving 
me back my daughter.” 

Not until her light feet had made the tour of the 


110 


UNCLE PHIL. 


assemblage, with a word, or a smile, or a hand-shake 
for each, would Gerry go within doors. 

All the world loved her, and she loved all the 
world — especially this night. 

‘^Go, Gerry,” said her father, when at last they 
had got away from the crowd and were safely 
housed; “get off your wet clothes. Uncle Phil will 
take you something warm. And you, too, Paul, had 
better get into dry rigging.” 

“Well, good night, papa,” said Gerry, turning 
her sparkling face toward him. “And, to you, too, 
good night — Paul.” 

The face of each man wore the same, yet not the 
same, expression of passionate love, as they watched 
her leaving the room with springing footsteps. 

Smith shook hands with Colonel Southampton 
as he bade him good-night, adding : “Kobert, I wish 
to have some conversation with you to-morrow — to 
ask you to give me Gerry.” 


UNCLE PHIL. 


Ill 


CHAPTER IX. 

TROUBLED WATERS. 

“Ask God for temperance, that’s the appliance 
Only which your disease requires.” 

Gerry had scarcely removed her dripping gar- 
ments and clad herself in a warm dressing robe 
when she heard Uncle PhiPs voice at the door. 

^^Open de do’, Miss Gerry, an’ let me in — ’tain’t 
no body ’tall, ’ceptin’ y’u Uncle Phil. An’ I goter 
obsarvation ter make. Marse Robert,” he con- 
tinued, after the door had been opened for him, ^^he 
tole me ter prepa’r some b’ilin’ hot flip, an’ tote it 
inter y’u right here. Wall, fustly, I — but good 
Lordy, honey, what is de wale ob me tellin’ ter y’u 
howter make flip? Howadzackly, arter I had done 
made de flip an’ I was totin’ it ter y’u right erlong 
down de corridy whar, I seed Marse Challey Wood 
ercomin,’ an’ er wavin’ ’ter me. Inco’se I hadter stop 
an’ ax what in de created wurld he wanted ter con- 
varse ’bout dis time ernight. Wall, Miss Gerry, y’u 
knows y’use’f dat I neber wus no great han’ ter tell 
er long story. An’ he ’splained, an’ de marter is 
dess dis, dem fetched Inguns is riz, an’ is up ter dey 
debilment agin’ ; quincequoncially, de solger mans is 
ordered gut arter dem quick j an’ dey is flxin’ as hard 


112 


UNCLE PHIL. 


as dey kin ter absquatulate befo’ daybroke. An’ 
dat wus what Marse Challey Wood wus er wantin’ 
erlong ob me, ter resist on y’u ercomin’ inter de 
drawin’ room, wbar he is erwatin’ dis blessed minit 
ter ax y’u howdy befo’ he goes arter dem blamed 
Inguns. An’, Miss Gerry, I tell it ter y’u fer a 
fac’, he looked dat peaked an’ mizzible — dose In 
guns is powerful ambitious erbout er white man’s 
ha’r — dat I ’wised him ter keep ter de off ob ertree, 
de bigger de better. An’ ter raise his sperits I gin 
him de flip. He drinked it down, an’ before de 
Lord, Miss Gerry, in all my borned days I neber seed 
flip do no body so little good. But he set himse’f 
down on er cheer, an’ dars whar he is now — ef he 
ain’t gone erway no whar.” 

He had not gone anywhere, and there is where 
Gerry found him a few moments later, after a hur- 
ried arrangement of her dress. 

It was quite evident that the flip had done its 
work ill, and had not raised his spirits. His face 
was drawn and almost ghastly; yet Gerry in the 
exuberance of her happiness failed to see it as he 
rose to meet her. 

With outstretched hands she advanced swiftly, 
with sparkling eyes, and every feature of her beau- 
tiful face glorifled by the mighty power of Love’s 
magical influence. She spoke quickly : 

^‘Congratulate me, Charley. I am just the hap- 
piest girl in all the world, Don’t yo^ wish me 


UNCLE PHIL. 113 

joy?’^ she asked impatiently, seeing that he hesi- 
tated. 

This young fellow was suffering tortures. He 
had stood for hours on the drenched beach, not 
heeding the fury of the tempest, and a prey to hor- 
rible anxiety while Gerry was in danger. There 
had been one blissful moment when her safety was 
assured. But the sight of her glowing face coupled 
with the arrogant satisfaction of “that man Smith,” 
whose countenance wore the pleasing assurance of 
a man on top and certain of his ability to stay 
there, smote him to the heart, sharp as a knife. 

Henceforth the world, for him, was changed. The 
one object he so coveted was lost to him, utterly, ir- 
retrievably. 

The sudden call to arms was very welcome, and 
he hoped, he prayed that his heart — aching with 
such sharp pain as to make him, strong man that 
he was, shudder — would be the billet for the first 
hostile bullet. But once again he must see her. 
Once again he must look on her sweet face. “Oh, 
God !” he moaned, “what are men made for to feel 
such anguish; to be so besotted about one woman?” 
There were thousands and thousands of other wom- 
en in the world, but he wanted only this one. 

“Oh! sweeter far than wealth, than fame, than all, 

Is first and passionate love: it stands alone.” 

He had seen eyes perhaps as bright, faces per- 
haps as fair, but about this girl there was some en- 


114 


UNCLE PHIL. 


chantment more than her beauty by which all men 
were bewitched. 

Love is a hardy plant ; it can exist on very little 
aliment, or none at all. And like Jonah’s gourd it 
can spring up to maturity, bearing flowers and 
fruits in a single night. And the unreasoning hope 
which, in buoyant youth, refuses to be extinguished 
had found a resting place in the bosom of this young 
of&cer. But now he felt that between himself and 
Gerry had come a material, a determinate change; 
that the right was no longer his to say to the woman 
of his choice that he loved her. 

Such an avowal he now felt would be an iusult to 
the lady he most delighted to honor. 

^^Love is a familia; love is a devil; 

There is no evil angel but love. 

Yet Samson was so tempted, and 
He had an excellent strength. 

Yet was Solomon so seduced, and 
He had a very good wit. 

Cupid’s shaft is too strong for Hercules’ club, 

And therefore too much odds for a Spaniard’s rapier.’* 

Well, all that was left him was to suffer and 
die. Yet from her he would avert the most insig- 
nificant pang. 

^‘Yes, Miss Gerry, I do wish you joy. God Al- 
mighty knows I do.” 

His very voice was changed, its clear tone was 
gone — and his words dropped slowly, one by one^ 


UNCLE PHIL. 


115 


.with a hard metallic ring, which would have grated 
painfully on ears less happy than those of the girl 
who stood so smilingly before him. 

“Yes, Charley,’^ said she, sinking upon a chair 
and motioning him to another, “Mr. Smith does 
like me — he has told me so.” 

Poor Charley was very magnanimous, but he was 
human, and he could not refrain from the observa- 
tion: 

“Mr. Smith ! Why, he is as old as your father.” 

“I like old men,” Gerry replied, with beaming 
cheerfulness. 

“He will tyrannize over you,” Charley ventured 
to say. 

“Oh, yes ! he will tyrannize over me,” assented the 
smiling Gerry. 

“He does not love you half well enough,” pro- 
tested the young man. 

Gerry^s face clouded, as she honestly admitted 
her opinion that if the affections of herself and of 
her betrothed were weighed in the balance her side 
would be the heaviest. “But,” she added, hopefully, 
her face clearing, “as I shall conform to all his 
wishes — he is so superior, not at all young and with- 
out discretion — I shall, no doubt, become less ob- 
jectionable, and in time the warmth of his feelings 
toward me will improve. But it is impossible that 
he can ever care for me as I care for him.” 

Brevet-Captain Wood looked at Miss Southamp- 


116 


UNCLE PHIL. 


ton in sheer wonder. Prompt as he always had 
been to perceive and admire her good qualities he 
had not up to this moment suspected humility to 
be among the number. And weakness did not be- 
long to her temperament. 

‘^But it all comes,” he thought, bitterly, “of her 
unaccountable infatuation for that strange dark 
man.” And how it could have come about perplexed 
his honest mind, and caused misgivings about the 
possible administration of occult powders — there 
might be such things, he reasoned; the secrets of 
the profound alchemist are terrible. Also he thought 
of the theory announced by Baron Keichanback, and 
Herschel, and Muller, of the mind-controlling-mind 
power. Perhaps she was hypnotized! If so, the 
only help could come from God. He was power- 
less ; and he could not even remain near to assist 
her should the occasion arise when the services of 
a faithful heart and a strong hand might be of use 
to her. Obedience is the soldier^s creed, and he 
must go where ordered. The farewell wrench must 
come, and why prolong the interview? 

Bravely the gallant young fellow faced the or- 
deal. He rose with such calmness as he could com- 
mand, and said: 

“I will not detain you longer. Miss Gerry, and 
will now say good-night — and good-bye.” 

He took her hands within his own as they walked 
together to the door^ and, pausing at the thresh- 


UNCLE PHIL. 


117 


old, he pressed them gently for a moment, and 
with drooping head he almost whispered : ^^May I 
not — for just once — call you Gerry 

It is impossible to describe the tender inflexion 
he gave to her loved name. Then he walked rapidly 
away, carrying the heaviest burden a human being 
can bear — a heart wounded nigh unto death. 

“Poor boy,’’ murmured Gerry, looking after him 
with solicitude, “I do hope he may come to no harm 
from the Indians. I am very fond of him — he is al- 
most like South or Fred.” 

This farewell scene was not without a witness. 
Mr. Hamilton had, as was very frequent, been 
“reading to Mrs. Southampton,” and was on the 
corridor — was it by chance? The expression on 
his face was very near satanic, as he muttered: 
“By Jove! it looks as if he had kissed her.” 

The storm was quite over, and the moon well up, 
showing her round disc, and illuminating objects 
with distinctness. 

The waters of the bay were still troubled, and 
rushed shoreward with a seething, hissing sound; 
while out in the offing could still be heard the loud 
booming of the wicked waves. Mr. Smith’s mind 
was on none of this as he calmly promenaded the 
beach under the conviction that he could now safely 
indulge in pleasurable anticipations of his assured 
happiness. 

Past infelicities were forgotten, or at least 


118 


UNCLE PHIL. 


seemed to belong to the petites mis^res de la vie 
humaine. He was so perfectly, so absolutely happy. 
In fancy he could still feel Gerry’s arms clinging 
about his neck. And in fancy kiss again the sweet, 
pure lips. 

Thus absorbed in his meditations, he did not see 
Mr. Hamilton approach, and was startled to find 
some one at his side commenting on the beauty of 
the night after so rough a storm. ^^Although,” he 
laughed disagreeably, ^^there is rather too much 
light for the adieux of lovers, such as I, by the 
merest chance, witnessed over there,” he nodded 
toward the Custom House. 

Smith, wishing to get rid of the person, and not 
being at any time what could be called a suave gen- 
tleman, said roughly : 

“What in h — 1 are you talking about?” 

“Oh! nothing,” answered Hamilton lightly, “if 
it comes your way. But I saw Captain Wood and 
Miss Southampton execute a very tender parting — 
he is under marching orders you know.” 

Jealousy! oh, what a fiend it is! A remorseless, 
cruel fiend, striking where it loves; and, like the 
base Judean, throwing a pearl away richer than all 
his tribe. 

A deadly pallor spread over Smith’s face, his fore- 
head furrowed with passion, as he faced round, lay- 
ing a heavy hand on Hamilton’s shoulder, and his 
yoice changed into a growl of savage menace, 


UNCLE PHIL. 


119 


^^Tell me the truth. The plain truth. You had 
better trifle with the devil.” 

Internally Mr. Hamilton was amused by the out- 
burst, but he answered, rather deprecatingly : 

“I really beg pardon if I have been indiscreet — I 
had no idea of making trouble. But if you want the 
truth, there is not a great deal that I can tell. I 
only saw them a moment as they stood together out- 
side yonder door, and I saw Captain Wood clasp 
Miss Southampton's hands to his bosom, stoop over 
— he is a long-limbed fellow — and kiss her.” 

With a flerce oath, Smith thrust Hamilton from 
him, and burst away, carried headlong by the im- 
pulse to seek the young officer and to kill him. But 
he checked himself suddenly ; his anger had quickly 
given place to loathing. ^ What do I want with his 
blood? He is welcome to her— she is not worth hav- 
ing. Merciful Heavens ! are all women base?” He 
feared they were; but he felt utterly undone as he 
recommenced his walk by the fretful tide uttering 
frightful blasphemies. Demons had taken posses- 
sion, and hours passed before he became conscious 
of his extravagant actions. He took off his hat, and 
the cool, dank sea air soothed his hot brain, and 
he became somewhat calm. He replaced his hat, 
and, putting uo his hands, he felt that his cheeks 
were damp. ^^Tears!” he said, ‘^is it possible?” 
Great sobs now came from his heaving breast, and 


120 


tJNCLE PHiL. 


the salt tears brought the smart to his bronzed 
face. 

Eestlessly he walked on, plunged in glooniy med- 
itations, calculating all probable and improbable 
chances. 

His better self told him that he had condemned 
Gerry unheard, and perhaps wrongly, because of 
falsehoods told by an impertinent meddler. A flush 
of shame swept over his face as he said : am not 

longsuffering, yet I listened to hear Gerry lightly 
spoken of, and did not resent it. But I did doubt 
her, and it is only just that I should tell her all. 
And if she says ^not guilty’ I will believe her 
against the world. And then if she will put her 
hand in mine and trust to me, what man born of 
’woman shall come between us?” He walked on 
till the stars faded, and the gray light across the 
heaving waters told him a new day was breaking, 
without having lain down to rest. 


UNCLE PHIL. 


12i 


CHAPTER X. 

AN OMEN. 

“Dear as you are, if Jove his arm extend, 

I can but grieve, unable to defend.” 

There were other eyes than those of Mr. Smith’s 
that had outwatched the stars. The morning sun 
found Miss Southampton still up, never haying re- 
tired to rest. 

She was too happy to sleep, and passed the hours, 
like the hapless Juliet, in chiding the tedium of 
the time which must elapse before she could with 
propriety see her Romeo. 

The door opened; it was to admit Uncle Phil, 
carrying a small waiter. 

“Here, Miss Gerry, I fetched y’u dis coffee. Drink 
it down warm, chile — it’s comfortin’ ter de innerds 
on er yearly mornin’. An’ ’sides” — he stopped in 
embarrassment. It is not every ambassador that is 
charged with congratulations. He had a disagree- 
able message to deliver; and to exonerate himself 
from any odium attaching to it he began recalling 
to her remembrance divers circumstances calculated 
to evince the affectionate nature of his feelings for 
her — “Miss Gerry, dus y’u, or dus y’u not mind, 
in Wirginny, when y’u wus little, ’bout all dem 
bird aigs I fotched y’u — an’ when y’u wanted ter 


m 


UNCLE PHIL. 


go out inter de rain, which wus onproper, an^ I re- 
posed y^u, y’u hollered, I ain’t sho’ dat y’u dident 
kick, tell y’u reforced me ter tote y’u out outer my 
sho’l’er, an’ I hilt er umereller ower y’u — an’ eber 
sense Marse Robert he fetched us all here ter Kali- 
forny, ain’t I always been good an’ kine ter vou?” 

^^Indeed I have not forgotten one bit of it all. 
Uncle Phil. You are just worth your weight in 
gold.” 

^^Inkose, Miss Gerry,” he replied, in a mortified 
tone, ^^ef I wus ter be sot up oner block ter be sole 
I wouldn’t fetch no little price like er low-down 
common nigger.” 

‘^Oh, dear Uncle Phil,” said Gerry, ‘‘I did not 
mean anything of that sort — what a ridiculous 
idea ! I meant to say how much attached to you I 
am. Don’t you know it?” 

“Yes, chile, I dus know it,” responded Uncle Phil 
very solemnly, “an’ whateber Marse Robert an’ de 
good Lord may see fitten ter do wid ole Phil, I will 
always be thankful fer two things, dat I was horned 
in AYirginny, an’ wid de Southamptons. But, Miss 
Gerry, what I fust sot out ter norrate ter y’u, wus 
ter reliber er message from Miss Frawnces. She’s 
wantin’, mighty bad, so she say, ter see y’u up in 
her repartment immegiately ef not sooner. But, 
Miss Gerry, I wouldn’t be in no powerful hurry 
’bout it. An’ I wouldn’t pay no ’tention ter her 
remarks ’tall. Me an Marse Robert don’t.” 


UNCLE PHIL. 


123 


Gerry laughed aloud. What was there in Mrs. 
Southampton, or in any one, to dread on this jocund 
morning? Nothing could annoy her. She was 
proof against all the arrows and slings of the most 
outrageous fortune. She could even defy fate. But 
what did this young girl know about adverse fate, 
even by hearsay? From her cradle to the present 
moment she had been surrounded by those whose 
best pleasure it had been to strew her pathway with 
flowers, and to screen from her even an unpleasant 
sight. 

^^Well, Uncle Phil,’’ was her smiling answer, ^flf 
Mrs. Southampton wishes to see me. I’ll make her 
a visit. It is not often she desires my presence. 
But what does she want?” 

^^I carnt tell y’u. Miss Gerry. She fergot ter tell 
me, an’ I fergot ter ax her. But she is in er weawin- 
way dis mornin’, fer er fac’. I dess neber seed her 
so upsot. An’ ef I was y’u, chile, I wouldn’t be in 
no hurry ’bout gwien — I wouldn’t keer ef I didn’t 
go ’tall. Miss Frawnces is po’ly in health, but she 
dess kin discomboberate er rigiment ob solger-mans 
when she sots her mine dat way.” 

^^Oh, if the interview promises to be breezy,” said 
Gerry, lightly, ^^I had better have it over.” 

With a gay laugh, she opened the door, and was 
just stepping out, when the pet rabbit of some child 
living near, ran across the corridor. 


124 


tJNCLE 


She started back, turning pale. 

Why is it so ominous, that a harmless little rab- 
bit crossing one’s path should cause alarm? 

It is said that the great Csesar almost turned 
back from that last visit to the Roman senate be- 
cause one of these fateful creatures crossed his 
path. 

^^Come back. Miss Gerry ! Come back !” screamed 
Uncle Phil, catching her dress. ^^Come right back 
inter y’u repartment, an’ stay dar tell de sun goes 
down.” 

To admit the truth, Gerry was herself sufficiently 
alarmed. She had been well instructed by her 
black nurses, and later by Uncle Phil, about the 
dire calamities presaged by this portent; only to 
be evaded by an instantaneous and a backward re- 
treat behind the door last passed, and remaining 
rearward its lintel until the shadows of evening re- 
lieved the embargo. 

But if she remained shut up in her room how 
would she see Mr. Smith; and how would Mr. 
Smith see her? And to pass the day without seeing 
him was simply an impossibility. She must see 
him! But how she did wish that wretched little 
animal had kept away from the corridor. 

"This is the air-drawn dagger" 
which no power of ratiocination can strike down — 
a painted fear that sometimes confronts the stout- 
est hearts and weakens the strongest nerves. 


UNCLE PHIL. 


1^5 


Our poor Gerry was sorely troubled. The new 
feeling so strange to one of her temperament had 
dominated her existence till all power of volition 
was lost — free agency gone. That he was not worth 
the affection so freely given, so ungrudgingly sur- 
rendered, did not affect the matter at all. It is the 
nature of some women, and not the worst of them, 
to love with the touching devotion of a beaten dog. 

That Mr. Smith would wish to see her she thought 
certain — and his was the right to command. And 
to see him, to use a homely phrase, fire nor water 
could keep her back ; but she shuddered at the im- 
pediment reared by the little rabbit, and it was only 
in half-hearted tones that she commanded : 

me go. Uncle Phil ! I cannot imprison my- 
self for an old, and perhaps foolish, superstition — 
let me go, I say.” 

^^Oh, Miss Gerry, chile,” he implored, his face 
ashen, “be ’wised by de ole Uncle Phil. He knows 
better den y’u dus, my po’ little, precious young 
mistis. ’Tain’t no light marter dat critter wus sent 
ter y’u in warnin’, but heart-breakin’ ’fiictions. 
Don’t go agin ole Uncle Phil dis time, chile. Step 
backerds inter y’u repartment, my larm” — in the 
intensity of his feelings he threw himself across 
the doorway — “Ef y’u go, y’u will have ter tromple 
on my body !” 

Gerry paused a moment — as one will to collect 
and organize the energies before facing an impend- 


126 


UNCLE PHIL. 


ing danger — then she said, brightly as she could, 
‘‘Why it is only a little jump,” and sprang over 
him. 

He rose to follow, with every limb shaking. 

“Wall, ef y’u will dar’ it. I’ll dar’ it too. An’ 
what is wisited on y’u will be wisited on me too. 
O Lord!” he prayed aloud, creeping rather than 
walking after her, his face drawn into a thousand 
wrinkles and working convulsively, “O Lord, 
spar’ dat chile. Take it all out on ole Phil — he’s er 
no-’count nigger, an’ ’t wel sarve him right— but 
spar’ dat chile ! She wus horned in Wirginny, an’ 
she is one ob de Southamptons.” He stopped short, 
and, fairly yelling, caught her skirts, detaining her 
with all his strength. The restless rabbit had again 
crossed the corridor. 

“Go back, chile ! go back. Ef y’u go back now y’u 
mought ’scape some ob it ! Oh, go back. Miss Gerry, 
honey, please go back.” 

“Let go my dress. Uncle Phil,” she said with 
frightened impatience. 

“Oh, chile !” moaned the old man, “I carnt let y’u 
go — y’u po’ young babby ! Y’u dat neber was con- 
traried in y’u life — y’u dess don’t know what y’u is 
doin’ ! Y’u is fotchin’ on sech trubble as never wus. 
Oh, go back, my putty, darlin’ young mistis.” 

The old man’s agony was so extreme that it was 
impossible to look on him unmoved, and willingly 
Gerry would have passed the day in a dungeon to 


UNCLE PHIL. 


127 


afford him relief. She would even have denied her- 
self the luxury of seeing her fianc^; but it did 
not occur to her that it would be possible for him 
to be disappointed. And there was the interview 
with Mrs. Southampton, which she must hurry 
through, so as not to keep the mogul waiting. Very 
gently she extricated her skirts, saying, “Please 
don’t worry so. Uncle Phil,” and she added ingenu- 
ously, “It was a tame rabbit, and perhaps it won’t 
count. You know yourself, there must be a differ- 
ence.” 

Uncle Phil shook his head. 

“Y’u carnt ’pose on me. Miss Gerry. I telled y’u 
befo’, an’ I tells y’u agin, dat critter warn’t sont fer 
nuthin’.” He said no more, but loyally followed 
her, his old eyes filling with tears. Come weal, 
come woe, he was not only ready and willing to bear 
his part, but ready and willing to bear the burden of 
it all. “But it’s bitter, black trubble dat’s cornin’,” 
he said, and in the spirit of the noble Koman who 
covered his face that he might die decently : “I’ll put 
on my Sunday clothes an’ be prepar’d.” 


128 


UNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTEE XI. 

THE WATERS OF MAEAH. 

“What is it to be false? To lie in watch there, and to 
Think on him? To weep ’twixt clock and clock?” 

There are some men who, by a strained idea of 
justice, when they find the ardor of their affections 
refrigerating toward a lawful spouse, seek to make 
all the compensations purchasable. If they cannot 
render unto Caesar such things as Caesar claims, 
they hope to make it up in money’s worth. 

Mrs. Southampton’s own parlor was most luxuri- 
ous; scattered around in reckless profusion were 
bric-a-brac; cost no object. The silken couch on 
which she reclined was sufficiently magnificent for 
an Oriental princess; and her rich costume negli- 
gente with its heavy embroideries would have put 
bread into the mouths of a poor man’s family for a 
whole year. But ill-health and a repining disposi- 
tion had scarcely left a trace of the soft beauty, so 
captivating in her girlhood. 

There are invalids who, accepting the dispensa- 
tion coming from a mysterious but beneficent Power 
as the discipline required to fit them for the illimi- 
table and glorious hereafter, bear their pains and 


UNCLE PHIL. 


129 


deprivations in sucli a beautiful spirit of meek trust 
that it is a privilege to come into their presence. 

But, per contra, there are other invalids, and it 
is sad to reflect, how completely wretched are their 
lives, and that no human love can survive under 
their peevish exactions. 

After a time of patient forbearance. Colonel 
Southampton came to the conclusion that his wife’s 
^^fads” were hopelessly chronic, and that it was her 
intention never to part with them. The outlook 
for himself was not pleasant — all comradeship be- 
tween husband and wife was at an end ; but at least 
he could supply her material wants, real and im- 
aginary, which he did to the fullest extent. Then, 
naturally, he turned to his daughter for an object 
to love and to make happy. And to spare her young 
life from this domestic shadow his authority had 
been arbitrarily used. He stated distinctly that he 
^Vould not have Gerry nagged at;” so her inter- 
course with her stepmother had been conflned to 
brief and infrequent calls. 

The robust health of the young girl Mrs. South- 
ampton considered to be the chiefest of her own 
many trials. While she, as she frequently averred, 
never knew what it was to be free from pain, Geral- 
dine never had so much as a headache, was never 
out of sorts, and always gay, with no more reflection 
than a bird. And then every one spoiled her to the 
degree that she was perfectly unbearable. And 


130 


UNCLE PHIL. 


what there was to admire in that tomboy she really 
could not see. There was not an atom of the deli- 
cate languor about her which should appeal so 
irresistibly to the stronger and coarser sex, who had 
no need for women other than to love and to pet. 
There was the key of her animosity toward her step- 
daughter, whom she hated with the vindictive fury 
of a weak nature secretly accusing her of having 
robbed herself of Colonel Southampton’s affections. 
And if she prayed at all it was for vengeance. If 
she could only hear her husband speak harshly to 
this pampered favorite — which she instinctively 
knew would be torture in the highest degree to 
Geraldine — ^that would be some compensation for 
the years of her own unloved life. 

As Gerry began to ascend the flight of steps lead- 
ing to Mrs. Southampton’s apartments she felt 
growing upon her a distressing sense of anxious ap- 
prehension. She ascribed it to the uncanny ren- 
contre on the corridor, mentally saying, am 
almost as superstitious as Uncle Phil — of course it 
is nonsense; but what could that horrid little creat- 
ure mean by crossing my path — twice?” 

It was no new thing to regard a visit to Mrs. 
Southampton a?s a bad quarter-of-an-hour, and hith- 
erto she had taken it placidly. But on this day of 
days, when her heart should have been as light as 
a leal on a tree, there seemed something inimical 
in the air — a chill sensation — a hostile influence 


UNCLE PHIL. 


131 


which she could not reason away. She told herself 
that it ^^must be purely superficial and transitory, 
and because of Uncle Phil being so foolish.” Then, 
to counteract these unpleasant emotions, she 
thought of Smith. A crimson flush of pleasure, not 
of shame, suffused her face. She felt that they were 
now indestructibly united — that the sanction of 
book, candle and bell was only a formula soon to fol- 
low — that she must hurry through this distasteful 
interview, then her father should receive her confi- 
dence. Already, she felt sure, Paul Smith had 
given his. 

The happy smile playing over her rosy lips died 
away as she reached the head of the stairs and stood 
before the closed door. She gazed at it blankly with 
a vehement impulse to flee, feeling that some 
strange danger to her lay within, and separated 
from her by a thin partition. Yet in what way 
could that poor creature injure her? Ashamed of 
her weakness, yet filled with trepidation, she un- 
closed the door — which moved easily on its well- 
oiled hinges and gave the customary ^^good-morn- 
ing.” 

^^You couldn’t shut that door without banging it 
so as to shake the house?” instantly began the in- 
valid; her querulous voice had deepened distinct- 
ively with several shades of acrimony. “But none 
of this family consider me, or place any stress on 
my opinions, which would have been greatly to your 


132 


UNCLE PHIL. 


advantage, missy. You would have been taught 
civility, and not allowed such reckless freedom of 
conduct.” 

^^It can scarcely be said,” answered Gerry blunt- 
ly, ^^that I have used much freedom of conduct to- 
ward you. Our relations have been singularly un- 
emotional, and on my side, at least, polite. And if 
your desire to see me this morning was only to ex- 
patiate on my demerits, and to deplore the whip- 
pings I didn’t get, I will have the pleasure to make 
my adieu.” She turned to go, and alas ! for her 
that she suffered herself to be recalled by Mrs. 
Southampton’s excited tones. But, to use a homely 
phrase, ^^Needs must when the devil drives;” that’s 
why so much harm is done in the world. 

^^Stay, I command you to stay! I did not send 
for you to speak of your habitual impertinence to 
myself — I am accustomed to that. But when you 
bring discredit that is reflected on me because, to 
my sorrow, I am connected with you, I will speak. 
And, furthermore, I will appeal to your father, 
whose generous confldence you have abused. It 
has always been your habit to associate with gentle- 
men just like one of themselves, participating in 
their most boisterous pastimes; and your father 
thinking it not amiss. 

do not myself think playing a grace-hoop with 
gentlemen improper. But when it comes to shoot- 
ing with an Indian bow nearly as tall as yourself — - 


UNCLE PHIL. 


133 


loading and shooting pistols— hewing and slash- 
ing with a broadsword — cutting and thrusting with 
a rapier— I even believe you know how to use a 
cutlass. It is almost beyond belief, yet it came to 
my ears, that while visiting at Mr. HartnelPs 
ranch, you were out with his sons lassoing 
cattle, and could hardly be restrained from going 
out with them on a bear hunt. And lately, another 
phase, if I may so call it, has been added to your 
repertoire; and nothing but the most fatuitous 
blindness could have closed your father^s eyes to 
that which has been so openly evident to every one 
else. I mean the abominable way you have been 
running after that man Smith — Titania after Bot- 
tom ! It seems, though, that the man was reason- 
ably honorable and kept out of your way all he 
could until yesterday when, under the pretense of 
mackerel fishing, which is another of your rare ac- 
complishments, you enticed him to go with you on 
that deserted ship. You had an ally in the storm, 
and he could not escape from you save by leaping 
into the bay. Pray, who began the kissing?’’ 

Geraldine Southampton had not taken a seat, but 
had remained standing, as she listened to the har- 
angue of her stepmother with changing color and 
a drooping mien, and humbled to the very dust. 

Oh ! where now was all the pride’ of her father’s 
race that it should falter and fail and leave her un- 
supported to the cruelty of some inner feeling, in- 


134 


UNCLE PHIL. 


exorable, imperative, which in its rude awakening 
turned against her with the fury of a tiger? 

^^Yes,” she admitted to herself, her stepmother 
had ‘^some show of truth, though with exaggeration 
and rancor.” 

Like lightning it flashed through her mind how 
she had ruled her father, hectored her brothers^ and 
domineered over every male creature that came in 
her way until “the man Smith” appeared; then 
down went her colors, and wide open flew the gates 
of the citadel to admit the stranger. Oh! what 
would her father think of her after the representa- 
tions which would be made to him by Mrs. South- 
ampton? 

To deserve a reproof from him was more than she 
could bear. The idea of it benumbed and paralyzed 
her faculties. 

Her nature was so innately, so essentially true, 
that not for an instant did she attempt any denial 
of the strange, strong influence Paul Smith had ex- 
erted over her from their first meeting, and that 
her conduct had been totally different toward him 
from what it had ever been to others. Yet she had 
not dreamed of the possibility of such an interpre- 
tation as Mrs. Southampton had placed upon it; 
and w^as too crushed and heart-broken to reflect 
that the odious Hamilton had been at work with his 
wily statements. Had this occurred to her, what a 
fiery reaction there would have been. Her unre- 


UNCLE PHIL. 


135 


Strained indignation would have sent her adversary 
into strong hysterics, and never victory so complete. 
But how many ships have gone down close to port, 
and yielding, as to a necromancer’s spell, Gerry 
burst into passionate tears. Extremity of feeling 
will sometimes cause strange exhibitions in the 
strongest natures. There have been few scenes 
more touching than the scene, when in the long con- 
test over the Charter, Edward I., England’s fiercest 
King, standing face to face with his people in West- 
minster Hall, burst into sudden and violent tears. 
And, at times, the mighty Cromwell, with the iron 
will, would break into weeping. And Achilles, the 
“bravest of the Greeks,” shed tears over the fallen 
body of Penthesilia, the Amazon queen, fallen in 
battle. 

It is only the weakest of mind and body, imper- 
vious to sympathy, that look unmoved on genuine 
distress. 

Mrs. Southampton had learned well her lesson 
inculcated by Hamilton, and had somewhat bet- 
tered the instruction; and knowing the joints in 
her step-daughter’s armor, had struck home. And 
now it was a feast to her eyes to witness the suffer- 
ing of the weeping girl who, having nothing to deny, 
only gasped, in extenuation, “We are — that is — we 
are contracted to marry.” 

“Marry !” cried Mrs. Southampton, “depend upon 
it, he has no such idea. Even the most diffident of 


136 


UNCLE PHIL. 


men, and that man Smith, I hear, has nothing of 
that quality, in their pursuit of wives, prefer to go 
about it their own way. And the girl who shows a 
willingness to assist is always a loser. And so long 
as men are men, they are not expected to imitate 
the saints, and decline to kiss a good-looking girl — 
when invited. You may take my word for it, the 
next thing that man Smith will do will be to pick 
a quarrel with you, and be off.” 

Gerry’s face had become ghastly. She was no 
guileless debutante, though in most things she was 
as innocent as a child, having lived all her life in 
the pure atmosphere of a father’s and brothers’ love. 
It was her father’s wife who had just given her to 
eat from the Tree of Knowledge. Now she knew 
good from evil — but she feared it was all evil. Feel- 
ing ill she turned to leave the room, the cruel darts 
following her. ^^He’ll pick a quarrel with you! 
He’ll pick a quarrel with you !” 

Slowly she descended the steps, and the corridor 
being empty, she stopped, turning her face seaward ; 
for the first time the incoming ocean breeze failed 
to invigorate her. 

Yesterday, and all the days before — she could re- 
member — how she would stand and fill and refill 
her strong young lungs with the briny aeriform 
fiuid until she could almost fiy, she felt so light and 
glad. But to-day — ^yesterday seemed so long ago ; 
whole ages seemed to have elapsed — the world had 


XTNCLE PEIL. 


137 

grown old — or come to an end. least,” she mur- 

mured, ^‘there is nothing left for me if I am not to 
stand peerless in the eyes of papa, and the other I 
do so love. With the approval of those two I can 
present an invulnerable front to all comers. But 
if they disapprove of me, I can face no one,” and 
she added piteously : ^^Oh, what have I done. I do 
not know what to do.” 

Oh ! what a dreadful power lies in an embittered 
woman’s tongue when it is enabled by some favor- 
ing chance to wreak its wantonness on a guileless, 
sensitive nature — and such a nature can suffer in- 
credibly. 

Only a little while since and this girl was so 
happy and proud in her love, and not afraid nor 
ashamed to make an exhibition of it to all the world. 
Now this same love humbled her. Mrs. South- 
ampton had made her to see the enormity of tum- 
bling into love at sight — making herself cheap — 
throwing herself at Smith’s head in such a trans- 
parent, all-may-read fashion, that she almost 
loathed herself. “And, perhaps,” she reflected, 
“papa, Mr. Smith, South and Fred will all loathe 
me too — and they thought me so perfect.” 

The sun was not long risen and his early beams 
tinged with gold the crests of the sparkling, leaping 
waves, and the white spray rushing in played 
around the stranded hulk of the old McKim. As 
her eyes rested on the dismantled vessel her heart 


UNCLE PHIL. 


m 

beat fast. She could almost mark the exact spot 
where she and Smith had made their vows. In a 
rush of feeling, she cried : ^^He is not false ! he will 
be true! And to mj latest day I must ever love 
him.’^ 

A feeling of trust elated her, and she walked 
straight on to the parlor to await his coming. 

He was there awaiting her. Standing by some 
shelves which had been arranged for her curiosities 
— curiosities which had been presented to Gerry, 
and gathered from the four quarters of the globe — 
and examining what purported to be the shoulder- 
blade of a missionary devoured by the Fiji isl- 
anders. Seemingly intent on this ghastly relic, he 
did not look up when she entered. 

Gerry felt discouraged, but bravely enough, she 
came and stood by his side. 

No man alive could have helped kissing the sweet 
cheek so shyly and blushingly offered, but he re- 
mained silent, and Gerry, rebuffed, drooped her 
eyes. 

^^She cannot look me in the face to-day,” passed 
through this man’s mind ; and his tones were gloomy 
as he said : ^^Come, Gerry, sit with me on the sofa. 
I have something to say to you.” 

Obediently, she sat beside him, but he seemed in 
no hurry to have his say. 

Timidly she made an effort to entertain him by 
relating the unlucky omen of the rabbit, and added, 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


130 


does, it really does, as I have always heard, pre- 
sage some calamity. I couldn’t help being startled. 
And I would have gone right back and remained in 
my room all day but — I thought, perhaps — you 
might — wish to see me,” bashfully she raised her 
eyes, enquiringly, with a bright beautiful blush. 

Smith was a self-contained man, and gave no 
outward token of his inward struggle. She had 
never appeared to him so temptingly lovely, and 
it would be like death to give her up. But he 
must give her up if she were not true. There was 
no way left but to question her. And saying to him- 
self he would believe whatever she would say, he 
asked abruptly: 

^^Gerry, did you see Captain Wood after you left 
me last evening?” 

^Wes,” she replied, instantly. “His command had 
received marching orders, and he came to me to say 
good-bye. You know,” she added, simply, “that 
Charley has been, and is to papa and me almost like 
South and Fred, and after them, I think he is the 
nicest boy I ever saw.” 

Any man not madly in love and madly jealous 
would have stopped there, knowing there was noth- 
ing to fear in her frank liking for the young oflacer, 
so frankly expressed, but there have been more than 
one Othello. A spasm of jealousy seized him, and 
catching her wrist roughly, he asked, “Did he not 
kiss you when he took his leave?” 


140 


UNCLE PHIL. 


In place of the indignant denial he so hoped for, 
Gerry burst into tears. 

It is all true, was the thought coming into her 
mind. What Mrs. Southampton said, and he is 
trying to pick a quarrel with me. 

Smith dropped her wrist, as if it burnt him like 
red-hot iron; his worst fears confirmed. 

“So ! — Shameless !” he burst out. “With your lips 
not cold from your vows, and still warm from my 
kisses, you dared to play the wanton 

The agony which men sometimes inflict on the 
beings they love best must work perpetual astonish- 
ment in Heaven. 

Gerry’s tears still fiowed. For the second time in 
her life she experienced the unenviable feeling of 
being at a deserved disadvantage. How mercilessly 
she was lashed by the inner consciousness of being 
too easily won. “He has no respect for me,” was her 
moan. She had no mind to plead with the tender 
Juliet : 

“Trust me, gentleman, ITl prove more ttue than those 
That have more cunning to be strange.” 

Ah! no. She wept on. Her tears exasperated 
him. It is astonishing how brutal a man can be, 
passionately in love. He would have given his 
heart’s blood, drop by drop, for this girl he was so 
cruelly wounding. 

“Damn the money !” he burst out in uncontroll- 


UNCLE UHIL. 


141 


able wrath, ^^that caused you to feign love for me — 
a man old as your father, and with so much art that 
I — poor fool ! believed you, while all the time your 
heart was given to that smooth-faced youngster. 
Oh I Gerry, Gerry, how could you do so? How 
could Southampton's daughter so behave?’^ 

In an instant all was changed. With the quick- 
ness of galvanic action, Geraldine Southampton 
sprang to her feet, with uplifted head — every ves- 
tige of humiliation gone — her tears had ceased, and 
her eyes glittering in the fierce wrath aroused, 
lightning streaks seemed almost to dart from them. 

^^If I understand you aright,^^ she said, not in the 
loud, vibrating voice of passion, but in the low, 
deadly tones used when the duello is d la mort ; “if 
I understand you aright, you say that I, Geraldine 
Southampton, Colonel Southampton’s daughter, be- 
cause you are rich, because of your money, ran 
after you,” no other than plain words would 
serve her now, “and tried to catch you — pretended 
to love you — did, in fact, take you in, while all the 
time my affections were given to Captain Wood. 
Here let me say,” she continued, “that I were happy 
if I had loved him, the chivalrous gentleman, the 
gallant soldier whose manly love would honor a 
queen ! But no, I could care for him only as a very 
dear, trusted friend ; while it has been my misera- 
ble fate — for no reason that I can give. Have you 
ever been otherwise to me than uncivil and rough? 


142 


UNCLE PHIL. 


— to love you with so true a love that you are not 
worthy of it, and cannot even understand.’^ 

^^Good Heavens, Gerry,” he exclaimed, making a 
motion as if to approach her. 

^^Keep back!” she commanded. ^^Eecollect your 
place. Do not insult me with your dastardly ex- 
cuses. I might forget the restraint imposed on a 
woman, and give you a blow.” 

He stood facing her. The mist cleared; and he 
saw depicted, outwardly and visibly, a truth higher 
and nobler than he had ever dreamed of ; and that 
he had won a prize richer than he knew, and had 
thrown it away. “But was it beyond recall?” 

“Oh, Gerry,” he pleaded, “won’t you forgive me? 
I was a poor, jealous brute.” 

Tears again filled her eyes, she loved him so well, 
and would, she well knew, so long as she lived ; but 
it was all over between them now. The pearly 
drops welled over, and rolled down her cheeks, 
“Keep back I Keep back, I say. I am not crying 
about you — I have hurt myself,” she said, dragging 
at the heavy chain bracelet he had placed on her 
wrist, until the soft fiesh bled. 

Smith, seeing the utter uselessness of any attempt 
to pacify her in her present state of excitement, de- 
cided to immediately seek her father — he would not 
spare himself in his explanations — and implore his 
powerful aid to propitiate Gerry. But he feared she 
would not relent. He felt that he had lost her es- 


UNCLE PHIL. 


143 


teem, and the manner of losing it carried neither 
oil nor balm. Feeling very little in love with him- 
self, he slowly walked from the room, and had 
scarcely reached the corridor, when the boom of a 
cannon from one of the vessels in the harbor smote 
his ear. He knew it to be the signal of a bark going 
to the Sandwich Islands for her passengers ashore 
to come on board. One of the passengers was al- 
ready on board. Impecunious and ill, he was mak- 
ing the voyage to stay the symptoms, perhaps de- 
stroy them, of a pulmonary disorder. To this per- 
son Smith had promised assistance. There being 
no time to lose, he hailed a boat, and was soon row- 
ing toward the ship. 

Gerry, yearning to be alone, started for her own 
apartment. It did not seem to her that it mattered 
much what happened — the whole earth was for the 
moment as if blotted out, obliterated, unmade; but 
she almost turned to stone at seeing Smith in a row- 
boat and pulling hard for the vessel already making 
her first tack to sail out from the harbor. 

She saw him reach the ship, and climb up to the 
deck, and disappear. Immovable as a statue she 
continued her gaze, she knew not how long, until, 
as by magic, a fog rolled up and she could see no 
more. There are moments into which years of or- 
dinary life seem to be compressed, and Gerry, look- 
ing far into the future, could see no terminal point 
but death for the agony she was suffering. Mean’ 


144 


UNCLE PHIL. 


while all traces of her humiliating grief must be 
hid from the world. There was nothing left but to 
cover her bleeding heart with her white hand^ and 
declai’e she was not hurt. 

Du Barry and her compeers might shriek at the 
scaffold, but the Bohans must die mute. 

Let us now see how it had been with Smith. He 
found the person he went to visit more ill than he 
had expected, and lost no time in giving the prom- 
ised assistance, and was condensing in a few words 
some valuable counsel, when he became aware that 
the ship was under way. He rushed up on deck 
only to find that the boats that had brought pas- 
sengers had all returned to the shore, and that the 
ship was zigzagging her way out of the harbor. 

^Tive hundred dollars !” he shouted, “five thou- 
sand ! to be put ashore.” 

“Be aisy there, be aisy,” said the Irish sailing- 
master, “be aisy wid ye. ITl fetch a tack and bring 
her to at Santa Cruz, at the mouth of the harbor, 
where you can get a boat and be rowed back in a 
jiffy. But the nozzle of this here sailer is set for 
Honolulu, and nothing but the will of Providence 
or the Captain’s orders will turn her back. So there 
is no good of cavorting around.” 

Smith was greatly annoyed, but in the belief that 
it could amount only to a short detention, endeav- 
ored to restrain himself. 

But who does not know how fast and thick on 


UNCLE PHIL. 


145 


the Pacific coast a fog can roll in, becoming so dense 
in a few moments as to make objects invisible at a 
yard’s distance. 

AVhen the fog lifted, the vessel was far out at 
sea. Smith attempted in vain to bribe the captain 
to return with him to Bonito. 

can’t do it,” answered that surly individual. 

am not the owner, and if I act contrary to orders 
I’ll lose my berth — that’s all there is about it. And 
you will just have to become reconciled to our com- 
pany as far as Hawaii.” 

Smith vented his feelings in not a few but a good 
many mouth-filling oaths while being carried to- 
ward the Sandwich Islands. And it was scarcely 
a consolation to him that wind and wave were doing 
their best for a speedy voyage. 

Humanly speaking, it was a cruel fate that sep- 
arated hearts loving so well. But there is a Provi- 
dence that marks the sparrow’s fall, and whose all- 
seeing eye saw that not yet were those two strong 
natures fitted to be welded together. 

Great happiness is not bought without a price — 
deep waters are to pass — rugged hills to climb — 
thorny paths to tread before the summum bonem, 
even of this life, can be gained. And the ends we 
shape for ourselves and the ends shaped for us by 
Immortal hands are as different as light from dark- 
ness, as wide apart as life from death. 


146 


UNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTEE XIL 

AZRAEL. 

“A summer sea and a summer sky 
Never a ripple and never a frown, 

Never a token of shipwreck night; 

What did it matter? The bark went down.” 

^^God help me,” murmured Gerry, love him 
yet.” She strained her eyes toward the mouth of 
the harbor, but the fog stood up an impenetrable 
wall, baffling vision. 

She heeded not, heard not, the hasty clatter of 
footsteps until her name was gasped rather than 
spoken by Uncle Phil. He was shaking as with an 
ague, and his eyes almost starting from their sock- 
ets with horror— yet, even then, consideration for 
his young lady was uppermost. 

^^Don't be skered. Miss Gerry, honey, fer de Lord^s 
sake, don^t ! ’Tain’t nuthin\ Marse Kobert, he dess 
drapped down in er little sorter faintin’ fit. ’Taint 
nuthin’ — I ’spec he done ober it now.” 

“Where? Where is he?” shrieked Gerry. 

“In de office, honey. De doctors, an’ Mr. Hamil- 
ton is in dar too — he done fetched ’em. Don’t go 
in dar now. Miss Gerry, chile. Oh! don’t — dess 
wait. Oh, Lordy ! Oh, Lordy !” he cried, wringing 
his hands, and vainly trying to k^p pace with Colo- 


UNCLE PHIL. 


147 


nel Southampton’s daughter, as she almost flew 
down the corridor. ^^Oh, oh, oh,” he continued, ‘flt 
will kill dat chile ! Oh, Lordy ! spar’ dat chile, an’ 
take it all out on de ole Phil — he ain’t no ’count, 
nohow — please, good Lordy ! take it out on de ole 
nigger, he’s er mean nigger, an’ y’u knows y’usef 
dat she’s one oh de Southamptons.” 

Colonel Southampton was a popular man and the 
news of his sudden seizure had spread, and about 
the closed door was a throng of people. A lane 
was opened to let Gerry pass through. 

^^Let me in!” she cried imperiously, striking on 
the door. It was opened only a little way by Hamil- 
ton, who said : ^Tray go back. Miss Gerry. The doc- 
tors are with your father, and they do not wish any 
one to come in at present. I will send for you the 
moment he becomes conscious.” 

She pushed him aside as if he were only a straw in 
her way. The efforts of the medical men to restore 
consciousness had failed, and they stood, by a table, 
in consultation. 

The patient lay prone on the India matting, his 
vest and cravat loosened, his coat-sleeves ripped to 
bare his arms for the lancet. Oh ! to see him thus, 
the handsome, debonair Colonel Southampton. 

With a wild shriek his daughter threw herself 
on his breast. ^Tapa ! papa !” That agonized cry did 
more than the doctors’ skill to arouse the stricken 
man. His eyelids unclosed, and his lips moving 


148 


UNCLE PHIL. 


slightly, articulated, ^^Gerry.” Stimulants were 
hastily given, his daughter clinging to him, and 
pouring forth terms of endearment. 

“Compose yourself, Miss Southampton,’’ said one 
of the physicians, “do not agitate your father, he 
needs to be kept quiet.” 

Colonel Southampton, now perfectly conscious, 
spoke; but it was slowly and with much difficulty. 
“I wish to be alone with my daughter,” and with- 
out heeding the remonstrances that were made, he 
continued in feeble tones : “My time is short — I — • 
want — only — Gerry.” 

All quitted the room, leaving father and daughter 
together; only Uncle Phil had hidden in a corner, 
and, all huddled up, rocked himself back and forth 
in mute woe. 

“Take my hand, Gerry, and try to pay attention 
to what I have to say.” 

“Yes, papa,” she answered, and by a mighty ef- 
fort becoming quiet. 

“Darling, darling, I have loved you best of all,” he 
murmured, looking upon her with wistful tender- 
ness. “Another will soon take my place in your 
affections — but, thank God! I leave you in good 
hands.” 

“No one can take your place in my affections, 
papa. You are first, and I would give all the world 
to keep you.” 

Again he spoke; ^^Gerry^ I leave some means, 


UNCLE PHIL. 


149 


but I can ask no one save you to care for Mrs. 
Southampton.” He said this plaintively, as if it dis- 
tressed him to impose such a burden on her young 
life. 

“I will care for her, papa,” she promised. 

^‘Be gentle and patient with her, Gerry,” he 
pleaded; ‘‘she is so helpless.” 

“1 will be gentle and patient with her, papa. I 
will consult her wishes in preference to my own.” 

The dying man looked at her gratefully, then his 
eyes closed, never to open again in this world. The 
inexorable visitor that comes once to every living 
creature had come. Gerry kissed the cold lips, 
which in life had always spoken to her words of 
love; and repeated : “Yes, papa, I will care for her. 
I will consult her wishes in preference to my own.” 

This promise she regarded as a vow made to the 
dead. God help her ! Its fulfilment was to crush her 
heart and wring her life, and give her to drink 
daily, as a beverage, from woe’s bitterest cup. 

When she rose up from her father’s dead body^ a 
change in her had been wrought. Such a change 
as a rushing tornado brings in its pitiless sweep 
over a parterre of gay fiowers. 

The bright, joyous Geraldine Southampton had 
forever departed. Even physically the change was 
utter. A dreadful pallor usurped the brilliant 
bloom of her cheeks, whose rounded outlines seemed 
in a moment to have become pinched and haggard. 


150 


UNCLE PHIL. 


Her girlhood had passed away; she was now a 
woman, and no more exempt than her fellows from 
the burdens of life. 

We will pass over the details of the splendid 
funeral ; how harrowing to the daughter, only those 
who have endured a like ordeal can know. And she, 
who had hitherto reigned as a princess, was from 
the moment of her father’s death set aside. Mrs. 
Southampton coming to the front, or rather her 
aid-de-camp, Hamilton, did, acting, as he said, un- 
der Mrs. Southampton’s directions. 

Colonel Southampton had been buried three 
weeks. Much of the time had been passed by Mrs. 
Southampton and Hamilton in consultations, from 
which Gerry had been excluded. Only Uncle Phil 
seemed to care for her now ; and it was touching the 
way he mastered his own grief so as not to augment 
hers. He would sit for hours intently watching her, 
with his hands clasped over his knees, then sudden- 
ly he would break out : 

‘‘Don’t y’u ’member. Miss Gerry, honey, dem 
times way back in Wirginny, when y’u wus little, 
’bout all dem bird aigs Uncle Phil fetched y’u, an’ 
when y’u wus obstroperlus an’ would go out inter de 
rain, dat it wus Uncle Phil dat toted y’u, an’ hilt er 
umereller ober y’u. An’ ter devart y’u I sung y’u 
chunes, an’ played fer y’u on de jews-harp, an’ I 
ain’t sho’ dat I didn’t daunce fer y’u?” 

Sometimes she would only raise her eyes to his 


UNCLE PHIL. 


151 


mournfully without answer, and when she would 
to say : ‘^Oh I yes, Uncle Phil, I remember almost 
a grin would spread over his face, and he chuckled : 
^^Tank de good Lordy fer dat much.’’ 

^^See, Geraldine,” said Mrs. Southampton, in a 
dissatisfied tone, ‘^these bonnets and veils are ex- 
actly alike.” 

“Are they?” was the weary, dreary reply. 

“Look for yourself,” was the sharp rejoinder. 
“Both veils are the same length, and each have a 
hem just eight inches wide.” 

“Yes,” said Gerry, not seeing her way to any other 
answer. 

Mrs. Southampton looked at her stepdaughter 
contemptuously. 

“Excuse me,” supplemented Gerry, seeing that 
her answer had given offence; “but I do not think 
that I understand.” 

“Of course you do not,” was the spirited rejoin- 
der, “understand the requirements of refined ladies 
in any situation. But I will explain to you that I, 
being the widow, should have a veil at least two 
yards long with a hem not less than twelve inches 
wide, while yours — you being only the daughter — 
should be less suggestive of grief.” 

A spasm of pain passed over Gerry’s face, but 
she answered with pathetic patience: “The veils 
can be arranged to suit you.” 

With half-closed eyes Mrs. Southampton surveyed 


152 


UNCLE PHIL. 


Gerry keenly. She had not been unobservant of 
the great change that had come over her high-spir- 
ited stepdaughter. She and Hamilton had com- 
mented upon it. They could but mark the absence 
of the springing, elastic step which had given place 
to slow, listless movements ; and the stamp on her 
face of an unfathomless woe that never lightened. 
And they both concurred that while, so far, her con- 
duct had been unobtrusive and of discretion, yet 
its continuance was a subject of grave doubt, Mrs. 
Southampton frankly stating the family traits: 
‘These Southamptons wonT go a step further than 
they want to go in any direction, and it is unpleas- 
ant and dangerous to attempt to force them,” and 
she continued, “to tell you the truth, I am puzzled 
at this extraordinary docility in Geraldine,^ and 
fear that it is too contrary to nature to last. But, 
dear Mr. Hamilton, you can count on me to further 
your wishes by all means in my power. You know 
it is my greatest desire to see Geraldine your wife.” 

She was honest in this. Hamilton’s adroit flattery 
formed for her the mitigating side of life. Compli- 
ments had been plentiful in her youth, but now 
they were as a dead letter, and no wonder it pleased 
her fancy, for heart she had none, when sometimes 
in a confidential, caressing way he would stroke 
her hair and call her, “My pretty mamma, that I 
hope is to be.” He had so completely dominated 
her weak nature that the idea of separation from 


UNCLE PEtiL. 


15 ^ 


him was insupportable. And that he should be- 
come a member of the family was an object worth 
scheming for, and the sacrifice of Geraldine’s life 
was not worth consideration, when her wishes and 
comfort were at stake. 

‘‘Geraldine, has it ever occurred to you how we 
are to live in the future? We will soon have to va- 
cate this house for your father’s successor.” 

“We can rent a small house and live on the means 
left us by papa until my brothers return,” was 
Gerry’s answer. 

“Mr. Hamilton says there are no means.” 

Gerry raised her eyes and looked sternly at her 
stepmother. 

“I do not understand at all the officiousness of 
that person in our affairs. It began at the time of 
papa’s death. He took the place of older and better 
esteemed friends. As it was by your direction I 
submitted — that was no time for unseemly differ- 
ences between you and me. But it is quite time now 
for his impertinent interference to cease.” 

Mrs. Southampton sobbed a little, and said plain- 
tively : 

“I never meant, Geraldine, to bring it up against 
your father, now that he is dead — his wrongs to me. 
He gave up his life entirely to frivolous amuse- 
ments, shared by you and your brothers, leaving 
me, his wife, a neglected invalid. Who has there 
ever been save only Mr. Hamilton kind-hearted 


154 : 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


eilough to pay me any attention? And when that 
great shock came,” here she sobbed a little more, 
never could have lived through that ordeal but 
for the friendly arm he offered me to lean upon. And 
if the dead can know such things,” she piously 
lifted her eyes to the ceiling, ^^Colonel Southampton 
is grateful at this moment for his care of me when 
no one else, not even you, gave me a thought.” 

Geraldine was vanquished. She had given her 
father a promise to be considerate, kind, and gentle 
to this woman, and truly she had meant to be so, 
but up to this time perhaps she had not been — she 
could not say — her anguish had been so cruel; but 
there must be no more remissness. In tones tremu- 
lous with emotion she said : 

^•1 beg your pardon if I have failed in attentions 
to you. The past few weeks have been so hard, but 
you shall have no cause for complaint in the future. 
Papa’s last words were of you, and how dare you ac- 
cuse him of indifference?” she burst out indignantly, 
“when at such a time your comfort was uppermost 
in his mind? Did I not then, to give consolation 
to him, promise to care for you faithfully — to con- 
sult your wishes in preference to my own?” 

“You promised him this, Geraldine?” asked Mrs. 
Southampton eagerly. 

Gerry bent her head in affirmation, it almost took 
away her life to talk about her father to this wom- 
an. And who can say it were a mercy that no 


tNCLE PHIL. 


m 


clairvoyant gift enabled her to read the unbounded 
satisfaction that now filled the mind of Mrs. South- 
ampton? She saw how easy it would be to rule this 
haughty stepdaughter, whom she now held in lead- 
ing strings. The gyves might kill her, but she 
would never rend them asunder — “trust a South- 
ampton for keeping faith.” 

“You are mistaken,” said Gerry after a long 
pause, “about papa not leaving sufficient means to 
provide for our immediate wants. He told me there 
was sufficient. After I look over his papers I can 
understand his affairs.” 

“At my desire Mr. Hamilton has been kind enough 
to give his attention to my late husband’s dis- 
ordered business. He informs me there were some 
means, which have been consumed by the recent 
heavy expenses ; and now there is absolutely nothing 
left.” 

The miserable feeling of having been foiled by 
an unworthy foe passed across Gerry’s mind, and 
that there was no alternative, she must begin the 
battle of life as best she could. It was an appalling 
outlook that confronted her after the manner in 
which she had been brought up to work for bread. 
But she was willing to try, and would have suc- 
ceeded. Her pride of race would have made her 
ashamed to be ashamed of any work that was hon- 
est. 

“You must give me a little time to think,” she 


156 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


answered. ^^But you can rely upon it, I will do my 
best. Papa and I have many friends; they will 
surely assist me in finding something to do.” 

^‘Had many friends, you mean. Fortune and 
friends fiy away together. What do you think has 
become of all your fine friends? Never coming 
near us in our affliction ; not even sending cards of 
sympathy.” 

The truth must be stated, Hamilton had denied 
admittance to all under the plea that Mrs. and Miss 
Southampton would see no one, being completely 
overwhelmed with grief. And he had destroyed a 
bushel of letters addressed to Gerry. He had no 
scruples. It was necessary to sequestrate Gerry 
until the plan he had in view had matured to frui- 
tion. 

Gerry sighed. She had not thought of it before, 
but it seemed dreadful that no one at all cared for 
her for herself, and that in losing her father she 
had lost all. But she answered bravely: ^^There 
must be something that I can do to earn a living 
for us.” 

Mrs. Southampton sneered. By some mysterious 
natural law the feebler the nature the more cruel. 

^Wou might earn something of a living for us by 
singing on the stage, or ballet dancing. I do not 
deny that you could do one or both well, but I have 
some regard for Colonel Southampton’s name if 
you, his petted daughter, have none. And I forbid 


tJNCLEJ PHIL. IS)* 

you, bearing his name, to appear behind the foot- 
lights/’ 

Gerry’s eyes flashed with something of the old 
brilliancy. 

‘‘You forget I am a Southampton by blood, and 
that I am not likely to soil the name were I to go 
behind the footlights to earn your bread and mine. 
Any calling that is honestly followed can be made 
respectable. But I can neither sing nor dance now,” 
she added sadly, “though I will immediately see 
about doing something.” 

“Geraldine,” cried Mrs. Southampton passion- 
ately, “you talk like a child. You are perfectly in- 
capable of earning money. And, but for your odious 
selfishness, and always thinking of what suits you, 
it is in your power to provide for us both.” 

“How?” 

“Notwithstanding all your ill-treatment of him, 
Mr. Hamilton is still willing to marry you. Why 
not consent?” 

“A thousand deaths first,” was the vehement an- 
swer. 

Mrs. Southampton began to weep. 

“I shall starve ! I shall be put out of this house 
on the high road ! It is easy to see what all the 
promises you made to your dying father will 
amount to! You gave him, as you say yourself, 
your solemn promise to consult my wishes. False 
girl, can nothing wean you from your love of self?” 


m 


tJNCLE 


Gerry looked at her bitterly. How dreadful 
seemed the torture to pass her life with this woman, 
but there was no escape; that promise given bound 
her hand and foot, and she must be patient. She 
said soothingly : ^^Have no fear, I will provide for 
you, if I have to sweep a crossing.” 

Eidicule from her stepmother in a storm fell over 
and across and all around the shrinking Gerry. 

This was only the opening of the attack which 
was then commenced, and continued unceasingly. 
No garrison, however strong, can resist effectively 
unremitting assaults; fatigue will at length cause 
the besieged to pause for breath. Then, the assail- 
ants rushing in, grasp the colors from hands grown 
too feeble to hold them and shout, ‘^Victory !” 

What wonder then that Gerry in her despair 
should ask herself, ‘^What did it matter?” At the 
nadir of misery the heart can suffer not an addition- 
al pang. 

And so, at this crisis of her life, under sensations 
morbidly exaggerated, she was led to take the 
wrong turning. 

When the Children of Israel were encamped by 
the sea, and were sore afraid at the approach of 
Pharaoh and his hosts, they had Moses to admonish 
them to “stand still and see the salvation of the 
Lord.” There was no one to hold Gerry back. Oh ! 
no, she was pushed on, as it were, into the black 
night, to a black fate. And, ah ! it was so sad. She 


UNCLE PHIL. 


159 


was totally incapable of making a stand for herself 
seeing everything in a false light with her vivid im- 
agination, and her generous heart, tender and true; 
such a temperament can enjoy with exalted rap- 
ture, also, it can suffer with an intensity of pain 
that goads nearly to madness, and impels to such 
extravagances as less ardent natures are never 
tempted to commit. 

^ Well,’^ she cried out at last, ‘df nothing else will 
suit you, so be it, if Mr. Hamilton should still so 
desire after a communication I must make to him.” 

“Ah, then,” said Mrs. Southampton, approvingly, 
“now you are reasonable, and I will send Mr. Ham- 
ilton in to you this moment. And really time is 
pressing. He says that his father has just died, 
and he must lose no time in returning to the 
‘States’,” and she skipped from the room in quite a 
girlish way. 

Hamilton well knew that he had no ordinary girl 
to deal with. But he quite believed in his ability 
to have his way in the long run, and his manner was 
assured. 

“Mrs. Southampton has informed me that at last 
you have consented to make me the happiest of 
men.” 

“That is false, and you know it,” she replied, 
looking at him steadily. “I will not be responsible 
for words other than my own. I said that I would 
not refuse to marry you should you still desire it 


160 


UNCLE PHIL. 


after you have heard what I have to tell you. I 
have no heart to give you now, or ever. It has gone 
out of my keeping absolutely — you know to whom. 
Perhaps you also know,” she continued in the mo- 
notonous tone of one under duress, and who is 
forced to relate a sorrowful story without faltering, 
“that he does not care for me. I think he despises 
me, I was so easily won. Yet my infatuation re- 
mains. I would prefer to throw myself under his 
feet and be trampled to death than to live without 
him.” 

“Have you no shame in telling me this?” said 
Hamilton, flushing darkly. 

“None,” she answered, “and I have more to tell 
you. I disgusted him ; and he went away and left 
me, although there was in the sight of heaven a 
solemn marriage between us. We knelt together 
on the deck of the old McKim and pronounced vows 
which I hold to be binding.” 

“Have you an idea,” asked Hamilton, “how such a 
sentimental ceremony would be regarded by the 
courts?” 

Without noticing his sneering remark, Gerry 
raised her eyes to his with a look of anxious in- 
quiry. “After this you would not wish to marry 
me?” 

“I would,” he answered. “You fancied Smith, I 
fancy you.” 

“Man!” she cried impetuously, “for your own 


UNCLE PHIL. 


161 


sake reconsider. Disliking — loathing you as I do, 
what will be your life with me?’’ 

Her passionate appeal recoiled from the obsti- 
nate, cold heart of this man like hailstones from an 
armor of proof. 

^^I’ll risk it,” he answered. ^^Katharine did not 
at first smile upon Petruchio, but she ended by 
making him a pattern wife.” 

^^Do not deceive yourself,” continued Gerry; her 
face was wan, and her voice retained not one ca- 
dence of its wonted melody. “I said that I would 
marry you, but I say to you now that I will never, 
never be your wife. Circumstances^ — a concatena- 
tion of them! may condemn me to a life of false- 
hood with you. But to my latest breath I will 
be true to my vows, pronounced to heaven.” 

Hamilton gave a short, disagreeable laugh, and 
answered : 

‘^The partner of your vows, as you so feelingly 
call them, did not seem to attach any particular 
value to them.” 

“No,” she replied, “he did not, and I do not know 
what may come of it — what I may have to suffer; 
but I will be faithful to him till I die. Now you 
know all,” she said, looking at him searchingly; 
“do you still desire an empty marriage ceremony?” 

Hamilton looked down. He would have been a 
good-looking man but for an expression of hard, 
material force denoting nothing like firmness^ only 


162 


UNCLE PHIL. 


obstinacy. He remembered how this girl had 
scorned him. Is love compatible with hate? He 
thought it was. At any rate, he had not the mag- 
nanimity now she was in his power to give her up 
and to allow her to depart out of his life. Also 
there was another feeling, animosity to Smith, to 
gratify. His had been the hand to set the ball in 
motion which had caused the trouble between Ger- 
aldine Southampton and her lover, and now were 
he to go away and let matters take their natural 
course, the two he had been at so much pains to 
separate would again come together. He hated 
Smith. Some animals are born to fight — and so are 
some men. And, come what might. Smith should 
never have her. Slowly, after some reflection, he 
looked up and answered : 

‘^For reasons of my own, I do. I will take you on 
your own terms.” 

She answered calmly, a breaking heart never 
rants : 

‘‘Well, I have no more to say. Make what ar- 
rangements you choose with Mrs. Southampton. I 
promise obedience — so far as I have stated.” 

She almost tottered as she left the room. No one 
was in the corridor. She stopped, and, clutching 
the hand-rail, she stood panting as if her breath 
were leaving her. 

As if in mockery of her grief the sun was at his 
brightest and best; flooding the world with glorious 


UNCLE PHIL. 


163 


radiance. And across the bay the distant moun- 
tains, touched by a magic brush, had taken on the 
most gorgeous pigments. The restless wavelets, 
pure white, sparkled and danced. Even the lethargic 
fish disported themselves in frolic, bending their 
fiexible bodies into hoops, and merrily tumbling 
over and over. The graceful gulls, with outstretched 
wings, were circling round and round until with a 
sudden scoop they darted downward to pounce 
upon the unsuspecting minnows, and, rising, they 
would utter shrill screams as their prey was 
snatched from them by the larger sort of gulls 
that subsist by robbery. Gerry, to shut out the 
sight, pressed her hands to her eyes, and her swell- 
ing heart asked the question: ^^Oh, why of all 
others am I so miserable?’’ That question has been 
asked many a time and oft, of earth and sky — of 
God and man, and no answer has come out of the 
mysterious silence. Not till we have climbed the 
^Mountain of Expiation and purified, not hardened 
by suffering will God speak, and His righteous wis- 
dom be made clear as the radiance of noonday. 


164 


UNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

THE IRON COLLAR. 

“But, I remember, now I am in this earthy world; 
When to do harm is often laudable: to do good, 
Sometimes accounted dangerous folly.” 

There are times when the very air is surcharged 
with coming woe, and Uncle Phil, unhappy and de- 
pressed more than usual, wandered restlessly up 
and down the corridor. 

In vain he beseeched : ^^Miss Gerry, chile, open 
de do^” In vain he called upon her ‘^ter ^member 
’bout dem bird aigs, an’ de umerreller hilt ober her 
when she wus little an’ obstroperlus, in Wirginny.” 
The closed door opened not ; yet instinctively he 
hovered near like a parent bird watching its threat- 
ened nest. He tried to reassure himself, repeating 
over and over: ‘^Nuthin’ mo’ kin happen,” but no 
consolation came, and unceasingly he continued his 
weary beat. The long day dragged to a close, the 
shadows of evening fell, and, planting himself near 
Gerry’s door, he muttered : ‘^I won’t go erway wid- 
out seein’ dat chile, ef I haster stan’ here all nite.” 

Presently Mr. Hamilton came, and ordered him 
to light the lamps in the parlor. Of late this duty 
bad been neglected, no illumination being required 


UNCLE PHIL. 


165 


in that deserted room. Uncle Phil obeyed, mutter- 
ing discontentedly: ^WhaPs dis fer?’’ 

One or two persons came whom he watched nar- 
rowly, feeling their coming denoted no good, and 
he almost refused to believe the evidence of his 
eyes, when Mrs. Southampton made her appear- 
ance in a white dress, leaning on Mr. Hamilton’s 
arm. After seating her, he walked directly to Miss 
Southampton’s apartment; Uncle Phil following, it 
was instinct, which is higher and holier— being 
heaven sent — than reason with its labored processes 
to adduce the truth, that told him Gerry was in 
danger ; and nothing but death could now keep him 
away from her. 

Mr. Hamilton tapped on the door, saying some- 
thing in a low voice. Gerry at once came forth. 
Hamilton started at her appearance. She was 
clothed in the deepest black. In place of a bridal 
veil her draperies of heavy crape fell in somber 
folds. 

Awe-struck in despite of himself,^ Hamilton 
asked : 

“Why do you not wear a white dress?” 

“Why should I not wear mourning?” she asked. 
Then pleadingly — as the drowning catch at a straw 
— she raised her eyes to his to make one more, the 
last, appeal against a fate more bitter than death 
“It is not too late yet, and I implore you to have 
mercy on yourself, if you have none for me, Aban- 


166 


UNCLE PHIL. 


don this worse than idle, this unholy make-believe/’ 

^^You are talking nonsense,” he replied coldly. 
^^Take my arm.” 

do not wish to touch you,” she said, can walk 
by your side. On your head fall the sin of this.” 

In the confusion of his mind Uncle Phil had left 
unclosed the shutters, and when Gerry took her 
place near the chaplain, resident of the fort, her 
eyes fastened with strange insistence on a group of 
Spanish boys looking in at the window, and with- 
out volition she became absorbed in the necessity 
of counting them. Sometimes w^hen the mind is 
tottering, in danger of ruin, a merciful Providence 
interposes with a mental lethargy. 

She heard the chaplain’s voice say: require 

and charge you both, as you will answer at the 
dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all 
hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know 
any impediment why you may not lawfully be 
joined together in matrimony, you do now confess 
it” but it was as a voice in the distance, and without 
meaning; but she must count those Spanish boys — 
her life, her reason, depended on it. But it was so 
hard to count them. In her frantic efforts to enum- 
erate she even paraphrased ^Tom Brown and his lit- 
tle Indian boys ;” one little Spanish boy, two little 
Spanish boys, three little Spanish boys; but there 
were more of them, and she had lost her count and 
must begin agaiii. Copfusedly, she recommenced; 


tNCLE PHIL. 


^^One little Spaniard, two little Spaniards.” 
don^t you bow your head?” whispered Hamilton. 
She looked at him in a bewildered way ; but turned 
again to the necessity of counting the Spanish 
boys. There seemed to be more of them than ever ; 
yet she must count them — it was so difficult — she 
was almost in despair. The chaplain’s voice now 
ceased, and her stepmother stood before her. She 
recognized Mrs. Southampton, and this knowledge 
gave her pleasure, as it proved to her that she had 
not become demented, as she feared she had. Quiet- 
ly she submitted to Mrs. Southampton’s kiss, but 
her words, congratulate you, Mrs. Hamilton,” 
dispelled the semi-trance which had enchained her 
faculties. Then, realizing the nature of the awful 
sacrilege she had committed, without a word, with- 
out a groan, she reeled and fell heavily on the floor. 

Under the lamp-light her features looked white 
and dead, and so like her father’s that Mrs. South- 
ampton, fllled with remorse, shrieked : ^^She is dead, 
and ’tis I who have killed her !” and went into vio- 
lent hysterics. 

The chaplain and his assistant, saying something 
about ^^sending a physician,” hastily withdrew, and 
Hamilton rushed out for help. 

Poor Uncle Phil, raising the insensible body of 
Gerry into his faithful arms, bore her without, and, 
laying her prone on the cool night sand, knelt beside 
her, and, clasping his aged hands, he prayed the ‘^ef- 


168 


UNCLE PHIL. 


factual, fervent prayer,” that rises to the throne of 
God and is always answered in His own good time 
and way. ^^Oh, Lordy! Oh, Lordy! hab mussy on 
dis chile. She ain’t done nuthin’, an’ she is one ob 
de Southamptons. Wisit it all on ole Phil, but 
spa’r dis chile,” words failing him, he repeated : ^^Oh, 
Lordy ! Oh, Lordy !” wringing his hands. 

The pure salt breeze soon did its work, and, Gerry 
opening her eyes sat up. The shrieks of her step- 
mother were filling the air all around ; and, recalled 
to duty, Gerry said: ^^Come, Uncle Phil, we must 
go to her.” 

And tenderly all through the night she ministered 
to the agonized, shrieking woman, vainly attempt- 
ing to soothe her ; but not until morning did those 
frightful shrieks cease, from exhaustion, and she 
sank into a troubled sleep. When she awakened, it 
was evident her feeble life had received its death- 
blow. 

When the final hour comes it is an honest one — 
illusions fade, deceptions are useless. As in a glass 
the deeds done in the body pass in review. Clearly 
this woman now saw that by indolence and selfish- 
ness she had wrecked her own life, and, worse still, 
how wretchedly she had wronged this daughter of 
the husband who had submitted to her many ex- 
actions without a harsh word. “Oh! how can I 
meet him?” she moaned. “Geraldine! oh, Geral- 
dine, won’t you forgive me — it might help me per- 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


16 ^ 

haps, if anything can help me— where I am going?’^ 

Gerry was silent. Her compact with her father 
had in effect given to this woman her bond for a 
pound of flesh, which had been demanded, and 
rendered. Did not her lacerated, bleeding heart still 
feel the torture of the merciless knife? No, she 
could not say, truly, that she forgave her, hut she 
spoke to her gently, saying : ^^Try to sleep.’^ 

shall soon sleep,” said the wretched woman, 
writhing in her agony, “and never wake. Oh ! won’t 
you forgive me, Geraldine — will Kobert’s daughter 
let me die unforgiven?” 

There was resistless power in that loved name. 
Her father had forgiven this helpless creature, and 
she must. 

“Yes,” she answered briefly, “I forgive you.” 

With this assurance the dying woman reached 
out for Gerry’s hand, and, clinging to it, passed to 
eternity. 

Why many people are born in the world would 
be a subject of grave doubt were we not confronted 
by the ensample of Pharaoh. The grand designs of 
the Creator are far removed from human under- 
standing; we can only say what is, is right. 

There is a germ of superstition in all strong na- 
tures. Such natures will struggle, flght against ad- 
verse circumstances until the feeling comes that 
these adversities are brought on by the resistless 


UNCLE PHIL. 


m 

sweep of Destiny — that Birnan Wood has come to 
Dunsinane. 

“They have tied me to a stake, I cannot fly.” 

Then opposition ceases, and they with dumb pa- 
tience await the passing of the storm, kno^ying 
that in the natural order of things, after the night 
there will be morning. 

Gerry felt herself to be in the toils, and without 
means to extricate herself ; but there would be relief 
somehow when her brothers returned, meanwhile 
she must “dree her weird.” 

She listened without remonstrance to Hamilton’s 
directions to make preparations for leaving Cali- 
fornia, the land of all others so dear to her. 

“Yes,” he said, “there is no need for a longer 
stay, now we have buried the old girl.” 

“I will not allow you,” replied Gerry, in low 
distinct tones, “to use such terms in speaking of 
the lady who had the honor of being my father’s 
wife.” 

“How are you going to prevent it,” he asked with 
a wicked sneer, “if such should be my pleasure?” 

“If you repeat it,” she answered, in the same low 
tone, “I shall chastise you.” 

Hamilton glanced at her with an ugly expression. 
There was no flush on her face, hardly defiance, but 
so much steady resolution that involuntarily he 
glanced at her well-formed hands, and rounded 


UNCLE PHIL. 


in 


arms, denoting the strength which always accom- 
panies perfect symmetry. 

^‘My bonny bride is particularly suave of speech,’’ 
he observed with a forced laugh. 

am no bonny bride,” she answered quickly, 
^^and you would do well for yourself to leave me 
here. I can provide for myself and Uncle Phil,” 
an expression of loathing crossed her face. ^^The 
money you stole from my dead father you can keep 
— were it millions, it would be a small price to pay 
for my freedom.” 

A dark flush mantled his cheek. His was a cold 
temperament, scarcely warmer than that of a flsh ; 
and it may be truly said that in this affair he had 
acted without counting the cost of what now prom- 
ised to be an expensive fancy. Previous to the 
meeting with Colonel Southampton’s daughter he 
would merely have smiled at the idea of woman’s 
love affecting his life. But her gay, brilliant beauty, 
her musical voice, her clear ringing laugh, attracted 
him. And then what charm was there in her frank 
unrestrained manner — to others. To him, when 
they first met, she had shown dislike and scorn. 
There is a noble gem which pales at the approach 
of poison; also there are some beings gifted or 
cursed with such a high-wrought nervous organiza- 
tion as to involuntarily recoil from an inimical 
presence. The wound she had inflicted on his self- 


m 


UNCLE UHIL. 


love stirred within him deeper depths than did his 
admiration for her. 

It was unworthy of him, as it is of any man, to 
war against a woman — she was created the weaker 
vessel and dependent on man for her protection — 
yet in his pursuit of the dual object, revenge and 
possession, he never paused, but hurried over the 
miry ground without asking himself what he 
would do with the bright, beautiful bird when 
caught. She was soaring high in the heavens, her 
jingling bells and flowing jesses were far above his 
reach until an untoward earthward swoop placed 
her in the fowler’s hands. 

That she would beat her wings against her cage 
and struggle against captivity he expected ; but this 
bitter hostility, which he now saw would be as im- 
placable as the grave, almost terrified him. 

Still the victory was his ! He had yet to learn that 
some victories are more disastrous than the most 
inglorious defeat, and there was decision in his 
voice as he replied : 

“No, notwithstanding the unusual amenities of 
our new life, I do not choose to give you up, or let 
you out of my sight, as you seem most anxious for. 
Are you meditating the coup of a divorce,” he asked 
insolently, “to let that fellow Smith in?” 

A moment passed before Gerry answered. In 
many things she had the pure innocence of a child, 
and this avenue of escape was one she had never 


tlNCLE PHIL. 


m 


dreamed of, and when it was presented to her mind 
there was a terrible temptation to free herself, but 
it quickly passed — she was her father^s daughter, 
and sister to South and Fred, and she dared not 
drag their honorable name into a divorce court — 
freedom for her could not come this way. But it 
was incumbent on her to make a stinging reply. 

“You are gratuitously impertinent. Did I not 
tell you that Mr. Smith went away to avoid me, and 
is it likely that he would care for me now after my 
disgraceful entanglement with you? He does not 
want me.” 

“Upon my word!” said Hamilton, his torpid 
blood boiling. “You are candid enough. It seems 
then that my honor lies wholly in Smithes indif- 
ference, not in your virtue.” 

“Silence! Your honor, as you call it, is safe 
enough, connected as it is with the name of South- 
ampton. But for that,” she burst out passionately, 
“there is no wickedness I would not perpetrate to 
be revenged on you. You have blighted my life! 
Whatever pleasant thing the future might have 
brought me after the loss of my father you have 
destroyed. And I tell you now that my hatred of 
you is of the kind that will never sleep, and never 
know variableness or shadow of change. Of my 
own will I will never speak to you, and I will close 
my eyes rather than look upon you. Now take me, 
or leave me, as you choose.” 


m 


tNCLEJ 


“You will go with me/’ he replied with sullen de- 
fiance, “but old Phil shall be left here.” 

“Uncle Phil shall go with me. I will not be sepa- 
rated from him,” she said imperiously. 

Hamilton left the room muttering: “Things do 
not look fiowery, but perhaps they will go smoother 
when I get her away from this infernal country, 
where men are plenty and women are few, and wor- 
shiped like angels. In the state of she will find 

her level.” 


UNCLE PHIL. 


in 


CHAPTER XIV. 

SORROW’S CROWN OF SORROWS. 

“Comforts in Heaven, and we are on the earth, 

Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief.” 

^^There is where I was born,” said Hamilton, in- 
dicating a large, old-fashioned brick dwelling at 
the terminus of a winding avenue, bordered by 
handsome pine trees. 

Gerry was silent; she never raised her eyes. 

^^Have you made up your mind to be haughty and 
disagreeable to my relations?” he asked angrily, 
tell you it won’t do.” 

Still there were neither word nor sign; he had 
as well have spoken to a lay-figure. The carriage 
had now stopped. 

^^Get out,” he said sharply, “unless you prefer to 
be driven to the stables.” 

Without a word Gerry descended, not choosing 
lo see the hand he extended to assist her, and fol- 
lowed him into the house, and into the parlor, 
where some persons were seated, to whom she was 
introduced by Hamilton, who said: “Here is my 
mother. And my sister-in-law, my brother Ed- 
ward, and their children.” 

w^^ ^ general rising, with a movement of 


176 


UNCLE PHIL. 


welcome toward Gerry, which her manner checked 
at once. She merely raised her eyes, and for a very 
short moment glanced at the group en bloc, with 
the slightest possible bend of her head. Her lips 
then opened, but it was only to say : wish to be 

shown to a room.” 

‘^Supper will soon be ready,” said Hamilton’s 
mother, after an embarrassing pause. 

Without noticing this observation, Gerry re- 
peated : wish to be shown to a room.” 

There was another embarrassing pause, and a 
servant was called to act as a guide to Gerry, who 
quitted the room without saying another word. 

In the silence that followed Hamilton felt de- 
jected and uncomfortable. 

By a course of scheming^ and unworthy conduct, 
and trampling on every manly instinct, he had suc- 
ceeded in joining this girl’s life with his, but the 
result had only gone to show the sinfulness of sin- 
ning. In effect they were separated by a gulf so 
wide and deep that it never could be bridged. Yet 
there was a sort of savage triumph in the reflection 
he had separated her from Smith. He would pre- 
fer to see her dead than in the possession of that 
man. And, strange as it may seem, Gerry’s Arm, 
simple good-faith had won his admiration. 

The first to speak was Hamilton’s brother Ed- 
ward, and if his words were offensive, his tones 
were still more so. 


UNCLE PHIL. 


177 


^^Our new relation seems to be a very affable per- 
son.” 

^^Go to the devil,” said Hamilton angrily. 

^What’s the matter, old man, that you are in 
such a bad humor? Knowing, as we all did, that 
you were a fish which would require a deal of catch- 
ing, the news of your marriage was a surprise to 
us — an agreeable surprise — and we were prepared 
to lavish upon your bride the wealth of 
our united affection. Pardon me for saying this 
effort on our part has the appearance of being su- 
perfiuous. Evidently we have not carried the heart 
of the newest Mrs. Hamilton by storm.” This 
brother of Hamilton had the reputation, and was 
proud of it, of being able to make himself as com- 
prehensively disagreeable as was humanly possible. 

The angry fiush did not leave Hamilton's face, 
though, after a pause, he decided to answer pacifi- 
cally : 

‘^The lady you speak of is in affliction. She has 
recently lost her father, and her stepmother has 
just died, and it is not my opinion that you will 
now or ever be favored with her regard, which is 
not a matter of much consequence, as my stay here 
will not be longer than to arrange the business be- 
tween us.” He then went over to his mother and 
began a conversation with her. 

Gerry had been some weeks at Hamilton’s home, 
and, persistently declining any intercourse with the 


178 


UNCLE PHIL. 


family, when she was not shut up in her own room 
she wandered through the grounds, followed by 
Uncle Phil. 

^^Miss Gerry, honey,” he asked her one day, ^^don^t 
it neber ’repear strange ter y’u what makes folkes 
live erway from de ocean?” Ah, the ocean! 

When the keynote is struck all the burial places 
of memory give up their dead, and forms and 
scenes long laid to rest troop back, bringing balm 
to the heart and mind in their sorest need. Stars 
may fall and a cloud pass across the face of the 
moon, but so long as mind and memory survive in 
their integrity, there remains a paradise out of 
which no one can be driven. And Gerry was a child 
again, wandering round the beach, that old familiar 
playground. How well she remembered the many 
times she had been drenched while stooping for a 
bright-hued shell and not observing the incoming 
wave. She had only laughed, and shaking her tiny 
fists at the restless water, which was laughing, too, 
had dared it to ^^do it again.” 

And how many marvels of the deep had she seen? 
Once there was a whale, which, wounded and 
chased by the harpooners, had in its blind rage 
swam, fighting, shoreward, to be stranded on the 
beach, where, with a hoarse bellow, it died. And 
then she had joined the body of her fellow- towns- 
people in their hurry to witness the wonder before 
the oil-naakers began with their inutilationj and^ 


UNCLE PHIL. 


179 


aided and abetted, she had sprung up on the dead 
leviathan and walked upward full sixty feet to its 
head; then, lowering herself into the wide-open 
mouth, she had cut off a piece of the flexible bone 
. for a relic. Another time she had seen a live shark, 
of the man-eating sort, that had in its greed for 
prey ventured too near the shore for safety, and 
by a dash of the waves had been borne in and left 
high and dry on the sand, and there it lay, glancing 
with its wicked eyes and snapping with its cruel 
jaws at the group of excited gesticulating flshermen 
desiring to encompass its capture; the time was 
short, another wave might restore it to its native ele- 
ment in safety — the sea gives and takes. And 
Gerry in her willingness to help, which was one of 
her chief characteristics, advised ^^Bring lassoes.^’ 
Her suggestion received admiring and respectful at- 
tention, and elicited the following affirmatives 
from a jury of mixed nationalities : ^^Si senorita.’’ 
^^Yes, missie Gerry.” “Yar, dat’s goode.” ^^Yis 
marm.” ^^Jes lesten to the queean,” etc., etc. Lassoes 
galore, made of the stout bull’s hide, were soon at 
hand, and the creature was securely noosed and 
dragged along in triumph, even as the Komans ex- 
ulted over Jugurtha in chains, to a doom of torture 
of which Gerry had no conception, or her tender 
heart would have procured for the monster a speedy 
death, and as painless as might be. 

And some of her devotees among the fisher-folk 


180 


UNCLE PHIL. 


caught and brought on shore and deposited in the 
corridor of the Custom House a cuttle fish for her 
especial inspection. And, too venturesome in her 
curiosity, she was saved from the reach of a terrible 
arm fiung out to her by the quick movement of 
Kanaka Jack in throwing her backward. And he 
sorrowed days and nights over this cruel necessity. 
Alas, she had with a red-hot iron touched off one of 
the guns of the revenue schooner Frolic, thereby 
making a great noise in the world, as one of the 
officers said to her. Then she took command of 
the trim little vessel, which she sailed all round the 
bay, and brought back to anchorage. And on the 
occasion of her visit to the war sloop Vincennes 
Captain Hunter in an ill-considered moment struck 
colors and surrendered the ship to her. She im- 
mediately assumed command and had all hands 
piped up for grog and a holiday, much to the an- 
noyance of the aforesaid Captain Hunter, the 
amusement of the ward room officers, and the hilari- 
ous delight of the ^ffiands.” Gerry sighed, it seemed 
so sad that' all such halcyon days were gone, gone, 
utterly gone. 

^Tt is not possible for every one to live by the 
ocean. Uncle Phil,’’ she replied after a long pause. 
^‘But things do appear triste away from it.” 

^^Triste!” echoed Uncle Phil, indignant at the in- 
sufficiency of the expression. ^^Gewhillikins ! dat 
ain’t no oame fer it. In dis place y’u carn’t 


UNCLE PHIL. 


181 


see nothin^ Y^u carnet he-ar nuthinM Y’u carn’t 
eben breave good, quinciquonically” — he stopped, 
seeing a servant approaching, bearing a salver with 
a card on it, which he received, and, after handing 
it to Gerry, stood at attention, while she glanced 
at it. Her heart swelled, and tears came into her 
eyes as she read : 

Charles Wood, U. S. A. 

‘^Show the gentleman here,” she said. 

At the sight of Gerry, Captain Wood stopped 
short, shocked, and pained beyond measure at her 
altered appearance. 

‘Wou would not have known me, Charley?” she 
asked, rising to meet him, and holding out her 
hand. ^^Little did either of us dream when we last 
parted how we should next foregather.” 

‘‘I would know you anywhere, or in any guise,” 
he answered. “But good heavens!” the muscles 
of his face quiveripg with emotion, “how you must 
have suffered.” 

“Suffered?” she replied. “Why, no victim of a 
sixteenth-century tyrant ^put to the question^ ever 
suffered such heart-breaking anguish.” 

“We had been out among the hills,” he said, 
“chasing hostile Indians, without coming up with 
them for several weeks, when the intelligence 
reached me of the calamity of your father^s death. 
Though I thought Paul Smith was with you and 
privileged to sorrow with your sorrow, I could not 


183 


UNCLE PHIL. 


keep away from you in your trouble, and obtained 
leave of absence. Judge of my dismay to learn 
when I arrived at Bonito of the accumulated mis- 
fortunes which had been showered upon you. Your 
father dead — your stepmother dead — and Paul 
Smith away — and strangest of all, you married to 
that fellow Hamilton, whom I knew you despised — 
and gone, no one knew where. You have no idea of 
the labor it has been to find you. Tell me how it all 
happened — this deviPs work.” 

It was some moments before Gerry could find 
voice to reply, and then it was in the low quivering 
tones of sadness almost without hope. 

^‘Can I tell you, Charley, 

*How happy some o’er other some can be/ 

why the earth opens and swallows up some, 
and why the lightning strikes some others? 
But sit down and I will try to tell you. 
How can I explain?” she said wearily. ^^Every- 
thing went wTong. My father died — Paul Smith 
had gone — I was too easily won — he was tired of 
me.” 

^^Stop !” cried young Wood, ‘^you are appropriat- 
ing unnecessary distress. It is impossible that 
Smith voluntarily gave you up !” 

‘‘He did though,” persisted Gerry. 

“To be honest as the world goes is to be one picked out of feu 
thousand/’ 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


183 


She would keep nothing back. Indeed it seemed 
a slight solace to tell all to Charley, and, though 
shivering with pain, she went on : “It was just the 
morning after you had left Bonito that Mrs. South- 
ampton sent for me. She said a great deal. I would 
not have minded what she said, only she made me 
see things different from what they had ever seemed 
before. I do not think I would have cared much 
that my life had been devoted wholly to my own 
pleasure, which it had been, but when she spoke 
of papa’s eyes being opened to that which every one 
was talking about, the disgusting way I had been 
pursuing Paul — that is the way she put it — and 
that he would be intensely mortified and angry with 
me. And that Paul himself would occasion an ex- 
cuse to break with me, and he did, Charley. He in- 
sulted me — grossly insulted me! He roughly told 
me that I was mercenary, and accused me to my 
face of caring only for you. And, Charley,” she 
burst out vehemently, “he had the insolence to ask 
me if you had not kissed me when you went away.” 

“What answer did you make him?” inquired the 
young officer in a low tone. 

“What answer was left me to make but to order 
him to begone. And he took me at my word, scarce- 
ly offering an apology. Then came the horrible 
shock of papa’s death — and no human came near us 
in our desolation save Hamilton only. I do not 
know why, but Mrs. Southampton had always liked 


184 


uncle PBIU 


him. And I was so bound by a promise made to 
papa to be kind in all things, and to humor her ; and 
nothing would serve her but my marriage. Indeed, 
I was so tortured that I could not have been in my 
right mind. I did resist all I could. I told him 
that he was odious to me — but he took me any- 
how.^’ 

It was now all clear to Captain Wood. Gerry 
had been the victim of a nefarious plot concocted 
by Hamilton and Mrs. Southampton. Smith also 
had been tampered with by arousing his jealousy — 
and what a poor fool he must have been not to see 
that Gerry was as true as an angel from heaven. 

‘Toor sufferer,” he said with infinite tenderness. 
“But you are not friendless, in the absence of 
Southampton and Frederic I am here to protect 
you.” 

Gerry looked at him wistfully, but she answered 
resolutely : 

“I thank you, Charley, more than I can say, but 
your good will outruns your discretion. I have very 
little knowledge of a censorious world, but I have 
no need to be told that you are not a suitable cham- 
pion in the rupture of such shackles as bind me. 
I am tied hand and foot, but I look for release in 
the return of my brothers — otherwise the life I am 
leading would be insupportable.” 

Captain Wood looked at Gerry attentively. His 


fNCLB PHIL. 


m 


heart ached to mark the utter change which had 
been wrought in her. 

The bright peerless girl he knew had been forced 
single-handed into an engagement against the Le- 
gions of Sorrow and been vanquished. Her whole 
person bore traces of the dreadful struggle. Her 
bonny head had been lowered to the dust and still 
drooped — the lissom body seemed shrunken — the 
quick feet dragged slowly — the sparkling eyes 
grown dull — her very identity seemed gone, but in 
this faithful gallant young fellow^s heart she was 
Gerry still, the one woman he cared for. And he 
would cheerfully die to restore to her the lost hap- 
piness, and life would not be altogether vain if by 
any personal sacrifice he could render her less un- 
happy. 

“Dona Gerry, it is hideous to me to see you so cir- 
cumstanced, and in the absence of your brothers I 
am your nearest friend. Would you not allow me to 
act for you were I a married man? There — is — 
that is,’’ he stammered, the red blush fiushing his 
cheek. “I have a cousin in Virginia — I don’t know 
— but I think — perhaps — she might consent to 
marry me were I to ask her. Would you not then 
accept the refuge of my roof?” 

Gerry looked at him with grave tenderness — it 
would not be going too far to say — very like a 
mother looking on a much loved son. 

“Charley, there is no doubt about it, you are the 


186 ' 


UNCLE PHIL. 


dearest boy in all the world, and you tempt me. But 
it would be hardly fair to the Virginia cousin, and I 
repeat to you I am manacled with no hope of es- 
cape except through my brothers — unless Provi- 
dence should free me by death.” 

The young officer shivered ; it did not seem pos- 
sible to him that she could mean her own death — 
Heaven could not be cruel enough for that! She 
must mean Hamilton’s death. 

^^Well,” he answered, ^‘you shall be free from 
Hamilton — I will kill him !” 

^^And so bring dishonor on me,” she said sternly. 

^^Oh ! forgive me,” he cried. ‘‘Your distress mad- 
dens me. You never would see it,” he continued pas- 
sionately, “but I have loved you ! do love you ! and 
ever shall love you with a love so true that I would 
bear any pain to know that you were happy. That 
man Smith was never worthy of you ! In his cold- 
blooded, suspicious, jealous nature he was tricked 
by the villain Hamilton into doubting you. Had I 
been in his stead, blessed with the assurance of 
your love, do you think that man or devil could have 
infused into me doubts of you?” 

The tears rolled down Gerry’s cheeks, and she 
replied, slowly, as if utterance hurt her: 

“Charley, I am pained to hear this;” and looking 
upward, as if protesting against the hard decrees 
of Heaven, she continued: “And must it always 
be that true love shall bear such bitter fruit, and is 


UNCLE PHIL. 


W 

it a sin to be burnt out? Can those only be happy 
whose heart-throbs make feeble demonstrations? 

^^But compared to my situation, how enviable is 
yours. In the rush of man’s work relief must come. 
While I, Prometheus-like, am chained to a rock for 
vultures to eat away my heart. Oh ! if I could only 
climb mountains, swim rivers, fell trees, or work at 
any hard labor to occupy the mind and tire the 
body, I could wait for South and Fred with more 
patience. But God help me ! I am only a woman. 
You must go now, Charley — it is bitter — ^but I must 
say it — I may not see you again. You have spoken 
words that we both must forget. But as a sister 
loves a dear brother so I do and ever shall love you 
— or rather as a mother loves her only son, I feel 
so old — my youth is gone,” she placed her hands 
within his, ^^and now, my more than brother^ — fare- 
well.” 

Obediently the young officer left her. The tears 
that rolled down his cheeks did not shame his man- 
hood. His heart was rent with anguish more for 
the sorrows of the woman he loved than for his 
own. He never saw her again. His gallant young 
life was soon to go out at Ball’s Bluff, bravely 
charging at the head of his regiment. With his 
death- wound his voice had a triumphant ring as he 
shouted: “Forward, men!” — his last command. 
But he died happy, knowing that “in the resurrec- 
tion they neither marry nor are given in marriage.” 


188 


UNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTER XV. 

“ME TER BE WHOOPPEDI’* 

“We will not from the helm to sit and weep. 

But keep our course, though the rough winds say ‘No.* ** 

Gerry sat for some time filled with the saddest 
thoughts without perceiving the absence of Uncle 
Phil — a feeling of delicacy had caused him to with- 
draw during her interview with Captain Wood — 
missing him, she at once rose to ascertain his where- 
abouts. Some inner sense had warned her it were 
best to keep watch over the old man. And that 
same inner sense guided her in the choice of a path 
that lead to the rear of the mansion-house. An 
oblique turn suddenly presented to her view the 
domestic machine in movement. The white part of 
the family seemed to be almost as busy in directing 
as the black part was in executing the directions. 

Hamilton’s brother Edward who, seemingly had 
just returned from a ride on horseback, with his 
riding- whip still in his hand, stood watching the 
operations, and not infrequently making a remark 
of altogether disproportioned severity. 

Some one had given Uncle Phil a pair of shoes 
to be cleansed; it was true he polished his own, 
feeling it to be necessary in order to present a suit- 


UNCLE PEIL. 


i89 


able appearance, but to be commanded in a harsh 
tone to clean a pair of extremely soiled shoes was 
an indignity that cut him to the quick. ‘^Dess like 
I was one ob y’u common low down niggers,” was 
the mental comment as he began the cleansing proc- 
ess in, it must be confessed, a very dilettante man- 
ner. Edward Hamilton’s angry look fell upon him. 
^‘Come here, you old scoundrel,” he ordered, rais- 
ing his whip. 

^^My Gawd!” exclaimed Uncle Phil in a voice of 
agony, “me ter be whoopped !” 

But as often happens, at the supreme moment suc- 
cor was near. 

“When the need is highest, help is nighest.” 

There was a sound like that of a gale at sea, and 
with blazing eyes and teeth set, Gerry caught the 
whip before it could descend on Uncle Phil’s shrink- 
ing shoulders; and Edward Hamilton felt himself 
to be in the grasp of a Titan, while the heavy blows 
were falling like rain from the hot swift lash. 

“Woman ! — fiend !” he gasped, struggling in vain 
to get loose; then yelling with pain he shouted, 
“Murder! help!” 

It would have been a bold thing to do to rescue 
him. None there durst attempt it. And not until 
he had received what he would himself, under differ- 
ent auspices, have called “a devil of a whipping” 
did Uncle Phil’s young lady desist, and release her 


190 


tJNCLE pmu 


hold upon him. Then turning to the group of her 
new relations, w^ho in w^ondering terror were hud- 
dled together — she stood like a tower of strength 
standing four square to every wind that blows — 
and said in accents that seemed to fall from iron, 
so hard and inflexible were their ring : 

‘T have just one remark to make. Uncle Phil, 
my father’s valued friend, and mine, is old and un- 
accustomed to labor, and it is my will that he shall 
not be called on to perform any service. Also, 
I will state that if he is interfered with in the least 
I will flog whoever and by whom it is done.” She 
then began to walk away. 

The whip which she had dropped was instantly 
seized by Edward Hamilton, who, maddened with 
pain and rage, looked about him for a victim. 

A partly foolish boy called Ben was, or rather 
had been, scouring knives, for he had suspended his 
employment and was gazing into space, with his 
eyes almost bursting from their sockets. 

“Come here, Ben,” he ordered. 

Gerry instantly returned, and, placing herself be- 
fore the frightened boy, said : 

“I cannot allow anyone to suffer through an act 
of mine. Therefore, I will have to make common 
cause wdth Ben. Whip him if you like, but for 
every blow you give him, I promise you ten.” 

The foiled man, with an imprecation, turned 
away and walked into the house, followed by his 


UNCLE PHIL. 


101 


wife and mother. Their attempts at consolation 
were rudely repulsed. 

^^This must not get out,” he said; ‘^1 shall be dis- 
graced for life ! Go and caution the negroes. Say, 
if it is only hinted, I will make them all drink sor- 
row by the cupful.” 

This task was undertaken by his mother. ^‘Your 
Miss Geraldine was only in fun. She was playing 
with your Marse Edward,” she stated with empha- 
sis to Hannah, the cook, in the hearing of all the 
other still bewildered servants. 

^‘Yes’m, I seed she wus. Miss Geraldine kin be 
mighty funny when she tries,” was the politic an- 
swer. 

Could Edward Hamilton have beheld Colonel 
Southampton’s daughter after gaining the sanctu- 
ary of her room, the sight of her self-abasement 
w^ould have seemed almost the equivalent of an act 
of indemnity. 

Heavily she dropped on a chair, the crimson flush 
dyeing her cheeks with a blush so deep that it 
pained her. And Lady Macbeth’s apostrophe to the 
hands which “all the perfumes of Arabia could not 
sweeten,” was not more bitter than the reflections 
over her own which she regarded as having been 
put to a most vile use, and looking with positive 
aversion on the tapering fingers she murmured, 
“What next new degradation is in store for me, I 
wonder?” 


192 


UNCLE PHIL. 


‘^Luncheon’s ready, Miss Geraldine,” announced 
a female servant tapping at the door. The atten- 
tion of this girl had been irresistibly attracted all 
along by the want of deference shown by “Miss Ger- 
aldine ter we alls white-folks;” now it seemed to 
her that the stranger was no mere mortal, and the 
sable hand-maiden determined to secrete herself 
that very night in the bedroom to witness the un- 
dressing process, to see if there were not wings 
somewhere. 

Luncheon! Must she again face those people? 
Yes, there was no help for it; it would never do for 
them to suspect her humiliation. 

Slowly she rose, without elasticity, almost me- 
chanically like bodies of wood or stone are trans- 
ported on derricks, and descending the stairs took 
her place at the table. 

The several pairs of eyes which glanced at her 
quickly, almost surreptitiously, could not discern 
an atom of change in her consistently haughty silent 
demeanor, suggesting the idea that she was in the 
midst of a party of strangers for the first time. 
The aversion with which she had been regarded by 
Hamilton’s family now had taken on an ingredient 
of fear. She was something mysterious and alto- 
gether beyond their understanding, and, strange as 
it may seem, she rose in their respect. 

Hamilton was absent, and his absence appeared 
unnoticed by her, 


UNCLE PHIL. 


193 


The luncheon over, she walked outward and seat- 
ed herself, some distance from the house, under one 
of the large pine trees where she habitually passed 
much of her time. A location that, although um- 
brageous, would not seem desirable on account of 
its resinous nature — but those large pine trees were 
some reminder of her old home in California. 

Uncle Phil was with her. He had definitely made 
up his mind to separate from her as little as pos- 
sible, but seeing Hamilton approaching he with- 
drew to a neighboring pine, and spreading his ban- 
dana handkerchief on the periwinkle, seated himself 
on it, and gave free play to his meditations on the 
great desirability of Virginia and California as 
places of residence. 

Hamilton’s face wore a heavy frown. 

have been told,” he said angrily, ‘^that fellow 
Wood was here this morning.” 

A faint sighing of the light breeze that rustled 
the pine needles was his only answer. 

“Did you not hear me?” laying his hand on Ger- 
aldine’s shoulder. 

“Remove your hand,” she commanded. 

“Answer me,” he said, roughly. 

With seemingly little effort she threw off his 
hand as one might toss away a pebble. “Touch me 
again, if you dare.” 

How strong she is, passed through his min(J, 


194 


UNCLE PHIL. 


Folding his arms he asked : ^‘What did Wood want 
here?” 

^^To see me, of course,” she replied. “You can 
scarcely imagine that he came to see you.” 

“I will tell you what it is,” he rejoined passion- 
ately, losing the calmness of judgment which be- 
longed to him and only deserted him in his rare 
moments of excitement. “My object in bringing 
you from California was to separate you from your 
associations there, and 1^11 be damned if you shall 
have any of it here.” 

Not even the oath from him could excite her. She 
only looked at him contemptuously while saying : 

“I really do not see how it is in your power to 
hinder me from doing as I like. But for a reason, 
entirely disconnected from you, I am not likely to 
see Captain Wood again.” 

“Because he loves you, and has told you so!” he 
almost screamed. 

“Yes,” she answered laconically. 

He stood trembling with passion. 

“Woman, have you no shame? No decency?” 

“No, not since my life has been connected with 
yours. You can now go. I have no more to sdy to 
you.” It is impossible to describe the disdainful 
haughtiness of her tones. She would not have spo- 
ken so to the meanest underling. She turned 
abruptly from him, and he caught the glitter of a 
bracelet — she was in the deepest mourning yet she 


UNCLE PHIL. 


195 


always wore it, he remembered this now, his mind 
being abnormally suspicious. ^^Is not that Smithes 
bracelet?’' he demanded. 

“He placed it on my arm, certainly. Take it off 
if you choose,” she said ironically, and extended 
her arm, showing the secure lock. 

“Where is the key?” he asked eagerly. 

“Look for it in the Pacific Ocean. There is where 
he threw it.” Turning away from him, she gazed 
steadily on the open world before her, as if trying to 
decipher some cabalistic characters requiring the 
closest attention. 

Foiled at every point, Hamilton walked away 
muttering savagely: “Curse the Southamptons; 
they will die but they will never give up ; and her 
resentment to me will last to the end; and most 
persons would think I have not drawn a matrimo- 
nial prize, and clearly I have not, in regard to do- 
mestic felicity, but I won my game. I am no worse 
than other men, and it was her scorn that roused 
the devil in me. I do not regret what I have done, 
nothing can take away from me the satisfaction of 
coming between her and Smith — and ousting Wood 
too.” 

Not till twilight did Gerry return to the house. 
She was told that the family had gone to some tea- 
drinking. “But ole Miss she done lef out some 
supper fer y’u,” communicated the girl — the one 
who had been curious about the wings, 


196 


UNCLE PHIL. 


After drinking a tumbler of milk, Gerry went 
into the parlor and listlessly began a tour of in- 
spection of the pictures, but she soon desisted as 
they were all seemingly portraits of the Hamiltons. 
She made an impatient gesture, and quite by acci- 
dent her hand fell against the keys of an open piano. 
She started at the discord. She had loved music, 
but it seemed so long ago — that, and every other 
pleasure had gone out of her life. 

wonder if I could sing,” she murmured, run- 
ning a scale. On the rack was a book of songs, and 
being an accomplished musician, she began playing 
the accompaniments and singing, turning over the 
leaves as they came until — was it there, or did she 
unconsciously change into an old, old song which 
had been a favorite of her father^s — Highland 
Mary? Her voice rose loud and clear, filling the 
room with sweet, sorrowful strains, almost like the 
wailing of a seraphim, in celestial sorrow for the 
human love which weighs like lead on the earthly 
soul separating it from its God. Louder and clearer 
rose the wailing melody, “And still within my 
bosom’s core shall live my Highland Mary,” when, 
overcome by a rush of feeling she dropped from 
the piano-stool to her knees, and burying her face 
in the cushion, she broke into wild, ungovernable 
lamentations and sobs, such as might rend soul 
from body. 

“Good ^acious ! Geraldine,” cried the elder Mra, 


aNCLE PHIL. 


197 


Hamilton, in affrighted tones, ^Vhat is the mat- 
ter?’’ 

At these words Colonel Southampton’s daughter 
raised her face, every feature quivering, and blinded 
by her tears it took an instant to realize that the 
Hamiltons en masse were the spectators of her an- 
guish. With a supreme effort, such as was Alva- 
rado’s leap for life, she collected and energized 
every resource of an indomitable will liberated — 
if these people had witnessed her debasement they 
should feel no triumph ! Without precipitancy, she 
rose, and confronted her enemies, as she viewed 
them. It was a pitiful sight to see that young girl, 
standing alone, prepared to take her own part, but 
with the courage of her race she struck a fierce 
blow at the author of so much of her sorrow. 

^^What is the matter? you ask me; it would be 
more to the purpose if you asked him,” she said, 
her low, indexible, imperious tones adding a thou- 
sandfold to the force of her words — the mere motion 
of her hand toward him who before the world 
passed as her husband, expressed scorn. “But you 
would not get the truth. You shall hear it from 
me. That creature took advantage of the circum- 
stances, in which he must have been aided by 
fiends, to force me — I was driven! — to stand by 
his side before a minister of God while a marriage 
service was read. But it is the last vestige of self- 
pespect remaining to me that I am not, and never 


198 


UNCLE PHIL. 


have been, his wife. Sooner than become such I 
Avould endure to have my limbs lopped from my 
body. I — I — know not how to free myself from 
him, and I think I should die but for hope of the 
relief that the coming of my brothers will bring. 
Till then I am prepared to suffer,” and with the 
step of an empress, not uncrowned, but wearing the 
imperial diadem, she left the room. 

son!” cried the elder lady, ‘^you should not 
have done this. Marriage is a divine institution, 
and it is wicked to enter into it” — here Edward 
Hamilton interrupting his mother, quoted : ‘^With- 
out the love that sanctifies and blesses it.” 

Hamilton w^as a hardened vessel, and outwardly 
did not flinch; he only laughed disagreeably and 
said : can imagine pleasanter things than hav- 

ing our domestic infelicities proclaimed on the 
house-top, as it were. And while in some respects 
I am tired enough of my bargain, in other respects 
I am not. There are compensating circumstances 
accompanjdng the privilege of calling Colonel 
Southampton’s daughter Mrs. Hamilton — and I 
don’t need any of your infernal sympathy.” 


UNCLE PHIL. 


199 


CHAPTEK XVI. 

“A LITTLE CLOUD OUT OP THE SEA LIKE A 
MAN’S HAND.” 

**’Tis not the trial of a woman’s war, 

The bitter clamor of two eager tongues.” 

The small speck on the political horizon which 
had been long viewed by many without serious un- 
easiness suddenly grew into gigantic proportions, 
overshadowing America with its baneful gloom, 
and the tempest burst, bringing war — war most 
direful — civil war. 

Neighbors, and, sadder still, brothers, conscien- 
tious, good men, took opposite sides. Some to 
support the flag under which they were born. Some 
to aid the particular section of their birth ; among 
the latter was Hamilton, who armed himself to sup- 
port the cause of the South. 

Geraldine^s only comment was : “It is well. Had 
you flown to arms in defense of the American flag, 
under which I have grown up and love more than 
my life every one of its stars and stripes, I might 
have looked on you as one of its defenders and so, 
perhaps, have despised you less. But now there is 
nothing dear to me which your hand has not been 
turned against.” 

Hamilton looked at her with an odd expression. 


200 


UNCLE PHIL. 


The patient dignity of her bearing alone denoted 
the bitter wrongs she had suffered, and while he 
was not able to comprehend the high elevation of 
her character, yet day by day he was conscious of a 
desire growing within him to win her love, at least 
her good will — and her unvarying scorn goaded 
him. 

“It is never well,” he replied, “to waste anything, 
and you really might be more economical of your 
words — I am quite aware of your sentiments to- 
ward me. But speak your mind you will, if the 
devil stands at the door.” 

“DonT you think,” she said with calmness, “that 
you should always mention that presence with re- 
spect. In my opinion, he can do you so much 
harm.” 

Uncle Phil, knowing himself to be in a delicate 
position, consistently sat on the fence, refusing to 
express an opinion concerning the merits or de- 
merits “ob dis rumpus de white folkes wus kickin’ 
up.” For a change of his views, or rather in de- 
ciding them, Virginia was responsible. When she 
“went out” he promptly seceded with his State, as 
“a gempleman oughter do,” and boldly proclaimed 
himself to be a Southern man, and loyally clung 
to his politics without wavering through many dis- 
couragements, though the dark days of corn-bread 
severely tried his patriotism, destined to finally fall 
under the absence of coffee. 


tJNOLE PHIL. 


201 


The previous life of Gerry had been so far re- 
moved from sectional animosities that she was as 
one bewildered. The whole South was in an uproar, 
and preparing for war with the alacrity that clearly 
indicated that the masses had no conception of 
what war really was — privations — painful march- 
ings — weary watchings and bloody battles. But as 
if they had eaten of the weed of madness they 
rushed on without pausing a moment to reflect on 
the awful nature of the storm they were hurrying 
to meet. 

Owing to the active part taken by Hamilton 
Gerry was not only invited but also expected to 
join the Southern ladies in their soldiers’ aid asso- 
ciations, and social-political reunions. She only 
shook her head, saying : “You must excuse me,” and 
looking at her sable clothing, added : “I am in deep 
affliction, but I will help to nurse your wounded 
soldiers.” That time soon came, and her promise 
amply redeemed. For the first years of the war the 
Northern newspapers came through “the lines” 
quite regularly, and always with painful tidings 
for Gerry. How sad it was for her to read of the 
heroic death of Charley Wood while leading a 
charge against “that terrible horse-shoe” at Ball’s 
Bluff: after the fall of the brilliant gentleman and 
soldier. Colonel E. D. Baker. Quickly following 
fell many others whom she had known and called 
friends; with whom she had often danced and 


UNCLE PHIL. 


m 

joined in many merry-makings. Indeed, she read 
no list of the Federals killed in battle without see- 
ing names around which clustered many pleasant 
recollections. Poor Major Charres, mortally wound- 
ed at Fredericksburg I How well she remembered 
a time, not so long ago, when returning from a 
scouting expedition and bear-hunt combined he had 
brought her a champagne bottle filled with an 
oleaginous fluid which he said was ^^genuine beards 
oil, to his certain knowledge, for he had shot the 
grizzly and tried down some of the fatty substance 
himself for her special behoof — it being good for 
the hair.’’ 

Nor could she forget his extreme mortification at 
her prompt and indignant repudiation of the idea 
of subjecting her abundant tresses to other treat- 
ment than the septuary washings with soap and 
water followed by rinsings with the pure element. 

“Your hair always looks so glossy,” he said in 
exculpation, “and I am sure I have heard that ladies 
used pomatum, which is undoubtedly oil of some 
sort.” 

“Perhaps they do — some of them,” she answered, 
and graciously adding : “I will keep the bottle as a 
reMc. I have carefully put away a large and mis- 
cellaneous assortment of valuables.” 

And now dead was that gay young fellow, and 
his pleasant voice would never be heard again. 

Also there was Captain Sulett, shot through the 


tiNCLE PHIL. 


m 


heart at Seven Pines ; and now that he was sancti- 
fied by the sad mystery of death it seemed some- 
thing akin to sacrilege to recall the uproarious 
laughs at his expense occasioned by the admixture 
in about equal proportions of indigenous honesty 
and ignorance of the Spanish language. He had his 
quarters in the cuartel, which occupied a town site, 
in the rear of which was a small lot where the army 
vehicles were stored. This lot was separated from 
the premises of a muger del pais by a substantial 
adobe wall. Over this wall one day fiew one of 
the muger^s discontented gallinas, and finding 
things to her liking she scraped together a few 
straws and making herself a sort of nest laid into 
it an egg. The marketable value of eggs being one 
dollar and a half per dozen rendered eggnog a bev- 
erage not enjoyed every day, and, as a rule, officers 
like eggnog; therefore, Captain Sulett not only 
added to the comfort of the nest, but also appealed 
to the hen’s appetite by scattering lavish handfuls of 
government corn to induce her to return. She ac- 
cepted the bribe, and a series of diurnal visits and 
diurnal eggs ensued until the delighted officer saw 
his way to the desired beverage. An evening was 
designated and his intimates invited to assist at 
the revel. These intimes were on hand punctual to 
a minute, but were regaled only with good hot 
whisky punch. Of course they should have drunk 
what was set before them asking no questions, but 


204 


UNCLE PHIL. 


they clamorously demanded the promised eggnog, 
and Captain Sulett was forced to an explanation. 
He extenuated nothing concerning the possession 
of a round dozen eggs, clearly his by the nine points 
of law — but he had lost them. 

“How did you lose them?’’ was categorically de- 
manded. 

“Well,” answered the centurian, seeing all re- 
treat cut off. “I hate to call women bad names, but 
that infernal Mexicaness who resides over the other 
side of our adobe wall made me a visit this morning 
in my modest bachelor quarters. I was surprised 
and not wholly pleased, but I hope to always have 
the manners of a gentleman, so I hastily removed 
my coat and vest from one of the chairs — my boots 
and some other things were on the other — and po- 
litely suggested that she be seated. I sat on the 
side of the bed and feeling sure that she must ob- 
serve her visit to be ill-timed I was prepared for 
an early withdrawal. But she was not diffident, 
and voluble. I did not understand her language, 
yet I clearly saw that she was making some demand 
which must be satisfied — and so — to get rid of her — 
I delivered up the oval treasures. But if this was 
bad, worse was to follow,” he added in a heated 
manner. “She departed only to return with an in- 
terpreter to thank me for the gift of the eggs and 
to request the loan of a cart for a day, which was 


UNCLE UHIL. 

the favor she had come to ask of el senor Capitan. 
Just imagine my feelings!’’ 

In their moments of conviviality gentlemen are 
prone to an excess of merriment hardly warranted 
by delicacy of sentiment or expression, and Captain 
Sulett’s efforts to sustain with good humor the 
united raillery directed against him did him infinite 
credit. 

am awe-struck at the sublimity of the idea,” 
said a gaunt veteran with a huge saber- wound scar 
from brow to chin — a Mexican souvenir — ‘ffhat we 
have within our corps a comrade whom we can con- 
fidently propose as a worthy Sunday school 
teacher.” 

^^He is capable of still better things,” supple- 
mented a manly major. ^^He ought to contract a 
matrimonial alliance. And who knows but that he 
might have children of his own, and the world glad- 
dened again with a second Washington.” 

‘^Comrades mine,” said a young officer, not a year 
from West Point, ^Ve are the victims, disappointed 
of our dearest expectations, yet let us congratulate 
ourselves that such transcendental integrity has 
been found in the army. He should be put into a 
glass case and ticketed.” 

^^Oh ! you can laugh as much as you please,” in- 
terposed Captain Sulett, ^ffiut the honor of the 
lady’s visit was unexpected — I was taken by sur- 


^06 


UNCLE PHIL. 


prise — my toilet was inchoate — and I did not know 
what to do.” 

^^Do?” cried the young officer with a gay laugh. 
^‘Why — why, you must be very peculiarly consti- 
tuted not to be able to stand such a siege with 
equanimity if the lady could.” 

^^Just listen to his talk!” said the gaunt veteran. 
^^Ifs splendid audacity is owing to his salad days. 
Darling,” he continued, looking at the young offi- 
cer with admiration commingled with compassion, 
“unless you be exempt from the common fortunes of 
men you will soon learn the tremendous advantages 
possessed by a woman. If, accidentally, she gets in 
your way you can’t knock her out of it, and even 
when she by deliberate intention deploys into line 
and offers fight in open field, you can only surren- 
der at, or rather with, discretion — or, better still, 
take to your heels. The latter alternative has al- 
ways been my practice, and I am a bachelor yet, 
thank God! But I have tender recollections, as 
doubtless you all have. Therefore, comrades, let 
us drink in silence to a memory, light our Habanos, 
and depart peacefully on our several ways. Not 
omitting to thank our host for his gracious enter- 
tainment, and to hope for him better luck next 
time.” 

Alas ! that so much good comradeship, and its in- 
nocent mirth, and its playful badinage, was so soon 
to terminate forever. And, alas ! that what is called 


UNCLE PHIL. 


207 

life with all its glorious possibilities, and its bound- 
less aims and hopes should end on the bloody field 
of battle, and these revelers with white rigid faces 
upturned to the pitying stars of Heaven go forth 
to investigate the Great Perhaps. 

^‘Man proposes and God disposes.’^ We can 
scarce make a step in our appointed walk without 
seeing some corroboration of that grand truth. 
Look back and recall Geraldine Southampton, her 
careless defiant ways, her frank off-hand manner, 
her transient fits of haughtiness, each and all had 
a several attraction, and no mere statuesque beauty 
was ever so fair, gay and winsome. And all in a 
moment, as it were, when her cup of happiness was 
brimming, bubbling over, the beautiful dream came 
to its end; and her life was emptied of its full- 
ness at its fullest, just when she began to compre- 
hend the magical melody that was heard first in 
the Garden of Eden, and to understand how rich 
and rapturous existence might be. Suddenly, with 
scarce a note of warning, a change came, the roseate 
sky turned black and Gerry found herself to be in 
the grasp of some cruel, inexorable evil and trans- 
ported to the City of Suffering for the crucial test. 

In these days of equalization when the terrible 
vox populi roars its fiat that all men are and ought 
to be free and equal it is hazardous to repeat the 
aphorism — though it is as old as the hills — that 
^^blood will tell yet when brought face to face with 


208 


UNCLE PHIL. 


eminent danger or certain destruction place con- 
fidence in it. Agag, King of the Amalekites, ^ Vent 
delicately’’ to the horrible doom of being ^^hewed 
Co pieces before the Lord.” And the pitiless Saul 
who, when wounded by the archers and the battle 
going sorely against him, took a sword and fell upon 
it that he might die like a king. And the ^^painted 
and curled darlings” of the French King’s house- 
hold, after their army had been cut to pieces and 
all seemed lost, springing from their silken couches, 
fought like demons, turning disastrous defeat into 
glorious victory. 

With almost feelings of relief, as if despair w^as 
making for itself an outlet, Gerry devoted herself 
to hospital work. The harder it was the better she 
liked it. She never held back from aiding to dress 
bloody wounds, and was always ready to bathe 
fevered, soiled and unshorn faces, or with patient 
effort endeavor to soothe men wild with pain. But 
it saddened her inexpressibly to watch for and to 
await the end when the soul took its flight — some- 
times in awful agony — from its mutilated tenement. 

Perhaps in that day of reckoning before the Great 
White Throne, and all the nations of the earth shall 
be assembled, and each separate individual asked 
the question by the Supreme Father, ^What have 
you done to inherit eternal life?” the best answer, 
I fancy, will be : had pity on your suffering chil- 
dren,” If such bQ the cflse, Geraldine Southampton 


UNCLE PHIL. 


209 

will be entitled to a fair rebate for all of her 
thoughtless folly before the evil days like an armed 
man came upon her. About this child born of af- 
fluence there was an attraction, a power of attach- 
ment, not often possessed in so eminent a degree. 
Her mere presence in the pain-stricken wards had 
its charm. At her coming tired eyes would bright- 
en, and pain would lose half its energy to torment. 

Even her constant companion, old Uncle Phil, 
was not unwelcome. And his oft-repeated recitals 
of the glories ‘^ob de Southamptons when dey wus 
in Wirginny, an’ dar wusent much ter complain ob 
when dey wus in Kaliforny,” were listened to with 
pleasure. 

One day passed very like another day; and the 
active sympathy going hand in hand with Gerry’s 
ministrations fatigued her daily to almost mental 
and physical exhaustion, and the “mouthful of fresh 
air,” when her day’s work was done was always 
looked forward to as the restorative. 

Hospital nurses soon learn to distinguish the 
sounds of war, whether it is skirmishing bridle in 
hand either to advance or retreat, or whether it 
be skillful generals charging with the several divi- 
sions of their troops in regular succession. If the 
latter, they know that the wounded will soon be 
coming in greater numbers than their eager, will- 
ing hands can care for. But they nerve themselves 
for their bpst efforts — and oh ! the torture to wit' 


210 


UNCLE PHIL. 


ness those cruel wounds made in human flesh by 
the ruthless canister. The cry can hardly be kept 
back, “Oh where is God?’^ 

Gerry had passed such a day, and, wearied almost 
to the extinction of life, she was slowly making her 
flnal round to wish each one “good-night.” She 
knew how much this was to these suffering men. 
A low, strangling moan caught her ear. She paused 
to listen — she had heard such a moan before. Some 
one was speaking, the words were labored and sol- 
emn. Solemn because spoken in the near proximity 
of Death. “I am — dying — will — some — one — sing 
— a — hymn?” Gerry waited a moment, to see if 
one of his comrades would comply with this last re- 
quest. No one volunteered. Again came the trem- 
ulous words, “Will some — one — sing — a — hymn?” 
She drew a deep breath to collect her strength, and 
quickly passed to the dying’s man cot, and tenderly 
laying her hand on the heaving breast she began 
to sing that noble anthem “Kock of Ages.” Clear 
as the notes of a flute — like the triumphant strains 
sung in Heaven — her voice in all its passionate, 
glorious fullness rang out with jubilant, vibrating 
melody that thrilled heart and brain. As the last 
strain ceased a slight shudder stirred the soldier’s 
body — the suffering lips wreathed into a smile — 
the man had ceased to suffer. 

Eeverently she laid the dead hands across the 
still heart. Then by some sudden, some holy im- 


UNCLE PHIL. 


211 


pulse, she pressed her lips on the brow which when 
last kissed by a woman received the good-bye kiss 
of his mother. 

And as Gerry glided her way out of the rude hos- 
pital she almost seemed to the war-worn inmates 
like a transient visitor lent from a brighter world. 
To them her singing was such as had never before 
been heard by mortal ears. Memories and hopes 
long dead lived again, and once again surrounded 
them in bodily presence. Their drooping spirits 
were comforted, and their saddened souls lured to a 
higher pitch of faith in God than they could ever 
have unassisted attained. 

Geraldine, Colonel Southampton’s daughter, it is 
well for you to have lived to this hour. It is well 
to have suffered all your heart’s anguish for this 
privilege, even for a moment of speaking as in the 
similitude of a messenger direct from Heaven to 
tell that when earthly consolations fail there is a 
sure refuge above, and that the Eternal Father will 
never deny His children, and that His mercy is 
without limit, and that the thorny road is often the 
road to Heaven. 

Although about this girl-woman, as the world 
goes, there were higher sorts of loyalty and good 
faith than the commoner kind of mortals can dream 
of, she had not yet taught her own wounded spirit 
to forget the frightful reefs over which it had bat- 
tled^ and to look above for a joy which no uncer- 


212 


UNCLE PHIL. 


tainty could destroy, and no falsehood take away. 

The war had been going on for three years, and 
with following the army in its marchings and coun- 
ter-marchings, its advances and retreats, Gerry felt 
to be an old soldier. Though she loved not their 
cause, she loved the Southern soldiers; she saw so 
much to admire in their noble bearing, their patient 
fortitude under incredible hardships. 

She was sitting in her tent one day laboring as- 
siduously with her unskillful fingers to manufac- 
ture a shirt out of her fiannel dressing-gown, for 
a soldier whose hollow cough had attracted her no- 
tice. Now that woolen garments were phantoms of 
the past, or only pleasing memories, the utility of 
such a gift may well be imagined. Uncle Phil 
rushed in wild with excitement, too much so to 
observe the strict decorum of speech which, for 
those with the army in any capacity, is highly to 
be commended. 

“ ’Fore Gawd ! Miss Gerry, honey, we is whoopped. 
,We jes as well gin in at ohct. Provi-dence ain’t 
neber gwien ter prosper no sich goin’s on. I jes 
hearn tell, fer er fac’, dat Gineral Bragg has jes 
gone an’ had one ob dem solger-mans ob ourn — an’ 
de good Lordy in Heaben knows dat we ain’t got 
none too many ob dem — shot — dead! jes fer liftin’ 
er chicken.” He took out his old pocket-handker- 
chief to wipe away his tears, and he whimpered. 
“An’ it ain’t been so long ergo dat I beam Gineral 


UNCLE PHIL. 


213 


Bragg myself talkin’ scandlons ter a white man, jes 
kase his pockets wus bulgin’ out wid taters er ap- 
ples — I ’spose, he ’lowed dat it neber would be dis- 
kivered. I felt so sorry fer dat white man dat I 
would er said somethin’ ter de gineral — but I 
thought mebby I had better not. In korse I ain’t 
blamin’ y’u fer none ob it, honey — I am jes noratin’ 
de truths; but I jes do wush from de bottom ob 
my heart dat I had neber j’ined dis army, an’ ef I 
know anything ertall ’bout my own feelin’s, I don’t 
want anything mo’ ter do wid it. I don’t know when 
1 eber las’ did hab anything fitten ter eat. Korn- 
braid fa’rly scratches my troat — an’ no coffee, 
neber ! an’ I neber wus no hand ter eat milk. An’ 
me, horned in Wirginny, wearin’ de korses kine ob 
cotton close — dowell,’ dey call it. An’ fer shoes! 
my Lord, look at dat,” he said in tones of deep dis- 
gust, putting out a foot with a very ill-made shoe 
upon it. His statements were not eloquent, but 
they were without ambiguity. 

wouldn’t worry if I were you. Uncle Phil,” said 
Gerry soothingly. hear we are going to start 
for Mississippi soon; perhaps it won’t be so 
hard there. Don’t you want to see the magnolias?” 

don’t know as I dooz,” replied Uncle Phil, not 
encouraged, “I don’t ’zactly hanker arter wanderin’ 
permiscus round dis kentry — I’ve seed ernough ob 
it. I had er heap ruther see er sizeable plate piled 
up wid good hot sody biskits^ an’ er dish ob bilip’ 


214 


UNCLE PHIL. 


hot coffee — but ’tain’t likely dat I will eber be 
spared ter see ary one ergin.” 

Sure enough they soon did start for the great 
river, but the roads were wretched beyond descrip- 
tion, and the teams, worn nearly to exhaustion, 
making the distance traveled seem very great. 

^^Look there. Uncle Phil!’’ cried Gerry, strenu- 
ously exerting herself, at the first view of the noble 
river, to speak with enthusiasm. ^‘There is plenty 
of water.” 

^Traish water,” sniffed Uncle Phil contemptu- 
ously. But big waters did have an attraction for 
him, and he soon wandered to the leveed shore, 
which he examined curiously, muttering, “What’s 
dis fer?” Then he sighted Louisiana on the oppo- 
site bank, with no pleasure, and he expressed him- 
self disconsolately, “Mo’ Ian’ yit.” 

They found the pleasant village of Port Gibson 
a peaceful resting place. A large number of Con- 
federate troops were in encampment near there and 
the one long street of the village was constantly en- 
livened by the passing and repassing of gray-clad 
soldiers. 

Citizen-soldiers carry with them to the camp 
their home ideas and between battles they consist- 
ently put war’s alarms out of sight and enjoy with 
infinite zest every social pleasure within their 
reach. And these fighters, the best the world ever 
saw, plunged at once into a round of gayeties, prom- 


tJNCLB pmu 




enades, rides, drives, parties, tableaux, and even 
musicales. Nor was this all; many a young fellow 
thought it no dishonor to lay down his arms at some 
fair maiden’s feet. And he who wooes carrying his 
life in his hand, as it were, has a tremendous ad- 
vantage. There is no time for coyness — no time 
for the usual follies when a lover is made to fetch 
and carry like the best of retrievers. Ah ! no, the 
uncertainty is too great that the promised hand 
will never be claimed. And the time too imminent 
when the love-light now in the young hero’s eyes 
will be changed to the deadly hate engendered in 
battle, and perhaps the last beat of his heart will be 
throbbing with fierce rage for his foeman, and not 
with love for the young heart that will ache none 
the less because it can tell its sorrows only to 
Heaven. 


216 


UNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTER XVIL 

THE BISHOP OF MOBILE. 

“When other helpers fail, and other comforts flee, 

Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.” 

‘^Miss Gerry, cMle, dey do tell me, fer er fac^ dat 
dose Roman Katholic folkses livin’ down roun’ here 
hah done gone an’ built ’em er cherch,an’ dar’s whar 
I’m gwien ter dis blessed Sunday — ter sorter ’mem- 
ber me ob Kaliforny. Y’u knows y’use’f. Miss Gerry, 
honey, dat we went ter dat cherch mor’n ha’f de 
time. We neber had no ’Piscopalian cherch ter go 
ter straight on reg’lar. Dat cherch wus Marse Rob- 
ert’s cherch, an’, in kose ourn. But I ain’t bin ter 
no Roman Katholic cherch sense we done lef Kali- 
forny, an’ dar’s whar I am gwien ter dis blessed 
day, ef de Lord spar’s me.” 

Gerry put on her hat. She, too, would go, though 
she almost felt herself to be forgotten of God. But 
the familiar ceremonials would at least be a re- 
minder of the old happy days which now seemed so 
long ago. 

The prosperous happy go to church to return 
thanks for benefits received — to acknowledge favors 
bestowed, and to entreat for their continuance. And 
to bless God that they are not as others. Not so go 


UNCLE PHIL. 


217 

the ailing of mind or body. To these the temple of 
God is a temple of refuge. He is no respecter of 
persons, and here is the only place under Heaven 
where all are equal, and must stand or fall as they 
have wrought. The rich are stripped of their goods 
— the learned of their sophistries — the powerful 
separated from their high places; and the soul 
naked as it came into the world exposed to the 
piercing eye of Omnipotence, and if disfigured by 
sin here is the equal remedy in the water that issued 
from the sacred side. And many a weary, stricken 
spirit driven here in anguish to grovel for mercy, 
has been strengthened and comforted by the soft 
melody whispered from divine lips : ^^Go in peace.’^ 

Gerry found little to remind her in that spick and 
span new wooden edifice of the large ancient adobe 
iglesia she remembered so well. Conspicuously ab- 
sent were the two huge allegorical paintings, one 
on each side of the front entrance. The painting 
on the right hand was intended to represent the im- 
mortal abode of the blessed with its glorified inhabi- 
tants, presumably wandering to and fro, carrying 
harps, their countenances indicative of celestial 
bliss. Also there were a great number of corpulent 
small angels swimming around in midair. 

The converse represented on the left hand was a 
picture of the lost souls condemned to expiate 
their misdeeds in the endless torments of the lake 
that burns with fire and brimstone, into which they 


UNCLE PHIL. 


m 

had been precipitated without hope of escape, for, 
standing on the shores, in sufficient numbers, were 
devils armed with pitchforks to forbid a landing. 

And no less in sharp contrast was the choir com- 
posed of a few well-trained voices and a melodeon 
to the harps and guitars and the sweet but untu- 
tored singing of the Indians. 

And of a type diametrically opposed to Padre 
Kamiras, who, in bodily presence was a stalwart 
warrior of the Church Militant, was the Bishop of 
Mobile, who was here to-day to consecrate the new- 
built church. His spare form was thin to emacia- 
tion, and his complexion was of that peculiarly pure 
tint acquired only by a long course of rigidly ab- 
stemious living; and from his clear, brilliant eyes 
the lurid light of human passions seemed to be for- 
ever banished. All this was rather felt than per- 
ceived by the eye of Gerry, whose mind was so much 
occupied with painful emotions that she scarce 
heard the familiar Latin offertory until in elevated 
tones Father O’Bannon uttered the solemn Church 
warning : Sursum corda. At the response, Haber- 
nus ad Dominum, she visibly shuddered. A per- 
tinacious inward voice was saying, ^^Ah ! how can 
I ever lift up my heart to God, filled as it with an 
ungoverned human love, and must it forever stand 
between me and all hopes of earth, shutting out 
even hopes of Heaven?’’ A sadness almost to death 
came over her — a general sense of misery^ pain and 


tfNCLE PHIL. 


terror. Alas ! who is strong enough to wrestle for 
weary months with heart-breaking despair without 
coming dangerously near the border-land of insan- 
ity? And human beings never struggle so hard as 
when they struggle alone, without witness, coun- 
selor, or comfort, unencouraged, unadvised, and un- 
pitied. Then comes that wild cry for help — help ! 
no matter how, but help ! 

In the olden times Jehovah’s voice was heard out 
of flaming Are in the midst of thunder and light- 
ning, and delivering the inflexible mandate, ^Tf ye 
sin ye die.” But religion achieved a grand tri- 
umph in the coming of our Savior, who walked 
among men, and was touched by their infirmities, 
and when bleeding on the cross opened his arms for 
all the afilicted of earth. This was the theme of the 
Bishop’s sermon, and his gentle tones fell upon 
Gerry’s ear soothingly. Involuntarily she raised 
her eyes, and the thought passing through her mind 
that he looked to be good and true she was con- 
scious of a great desire to speak with him. Not, 
she felt, that he could say, or that any one could say 
aught to quiet the tumult always raging in her 
heart, yet it w^ould be of some comfort to hear him 
speaking to her in his kindly tones. 

So strong was this desire that when the Bishop 
was leaving the church he was stopped by Gerry 
with the request : 

^^Could you give me a few minutes, father? I 


m 


UNCLE UHIL. 


am not a Catholic — but I am in trouble — and I 
think that I would like to speak to you.” 

With grave kindness he led the way to the vestry- 
room, and placing a chair for her, took one him- 
self and said : 

^^Now, my child, tell me all you wish. Are you 
not Mrs. Hamilton? I have heard much of your 
charities in the hospitals — you are much to be 
praised.” 

am to be praised for nothing !” she burst out 
impetuously. ^^But I am no hypocrite, and I say to 
you that my temperament revolts against the sight 
of suffering in any form, and I am driven to my 
work in the hospitals by my own restless misery.” 
The eyes she turned toward him were almost fierce 
as she continued : see before you one in the 

toils! One doomed by the wrath of Heaven! It 
was not even given to me to die free — I was driven 
into an ignominious bondage !” She drew a long 
sobbing breath ; then came a violent reaction ; and 
how bitterly she regretted her display of weakness. 
Remember she was the descendant of a long line of 
sword-wearing ancestors, who, winning or losing, 
could always smile pleasantly ; and who would have 
expired under the knife without a groan. And she, 
in an unguarded moment, had yielded to an unre- 
pressed longing for sympathy. No words can de- 
scribe the intensity of remorse and self-debasement 
which swept over her with the feeling that she had 


TJNCLE PHIL. 


m 

forgotten the .traditions of her father’s house — for- 
gotten that she was her father’s daughter, and 
^ Vhined like a sick cat.” 

The Bishop’s looks were of wondrous pity. He 
had witnessed so much of human sorrow in all its 
forms, and so much of human pride in all its exhi- 
bitions, and it was easy for him to see that she was 
bearing the burden of a sin not her own ; and that 
all the elements of prejudice, pride, and inexperi- 
ence were massed in force barring her way to a 
lighter path. He sighed, thinking of the pity of it 
that her youth should be so overshadowed. There 
were all the materials for the making of a perfect 
woman if her heart and brain could be brought into 
harmonious action, and his voice was very tender 
as he said : 

^ Will you not tell me the nature of your trouble?” 

The face she raised to his was deeply flushed, and 
wearing the impress of a proud humility, as she 
answered : 

must beg your pardon for this intrusion. But 
you appeared to me to be so wise and good — that I 
was tempted) beyond my power of resistance — to 
seek from you a word of good cheer. And I feel 
sure that you will accept my present humiliation as 
my best apology. I now see what I should have seen 
earlier, that what is laid on me to bear I must bear. 
I have only done what seemed to me to be the bitter, 
hard right, and I shall continue to do sO' — in my 


tiNCLE t>HlL. 


^ 2 ^ 

own way — moral responsibilities cannot be shifted. 
But I suffer! I suffer! Can you doubt it?’’ There 
was a fearless look in her eyes though her face had 
grown white with pain. will now go.” 

^^You must pardon me,” said the Bishop, ^Tf I 
refuse to let you go. And if for your own sake I beg 
your confidence. I am an old man with much ex- 
perience, and if I do not see a way — a lighter way 
— a way easier for you to tread, I can at least pray 
to God for you. Confide in me, dear child.” There 
was so much persuasion in his tones that Gerry 
was induced almost against volition to relate her 
miserable story. 

The Bishop listened attentively, and at its con- 
clusion said : 

“In one way, my child, you have acted nobly — 
the most exalted of human motives is self-sacrifice ; 
but indeed you were mistaken. By what right did 
you consent to that marriage ceremony with him 
who now passes for your husband, feeling yourself 
bound by every tie of honor and affection to the 
absent Smith?” 

“I was also bound,” she answered quickly, “by the 
promise given to my dead father to care for his poor 
invalid wife in preference to myself, and a prom- 
ise made to the dead cannot be canceled. And I did 
no wrong to the man Hamilton — I told him the 
truth! The wrong was all to me! He and she 
would have it so.” 


UNCLE PHIL. 


223 


urged the Bishop, the past cannot be 
undone for your own comfort, not to say happiness, 
would it not be better to live on terms of amity, at 
least, with Colonel Hamilton? I hear he is a brave, 
efficient officer.^’ 

^^No ! a thousand times no V’ burst out Gerry. ^^If 
I am good for nothing else I am good to tell the 
truth and I have promised him my undying enmity. 
For his own ends he has spoiled my life, and he 
must drink as he has brewed ! Nature has certain 
immutable laws, some chemicals will not unite with 
other chemicals — it would be as easy to unite fire 
and water. And you cannot know — ypu are too 
high above such a weakness ! how my ill-governed 
heart each day weeps tears of blood over the ashes 
of my lost love. And if I ever pray it is for deliver- 
ance from my cruel bondage. Oh ! before my trou- 
bles came it was such a free, glorious life — I was 
then so happy.^’ She paused, breathing like one in 
extremity, gasping for breath. “And must I tell 
you that if this dominating love could be removed 
from my heart by some triumph of surgical skill I 
would not wish it? And how indescribably hard it 
is to bear my appalling sensations of absolute lone- 
liness, sometimes terror, as if everything had gone 
away from me, and that I was left powerless to 
contend against an inexorable, malign infiuence.” 

The aged Bishop sighed again; he was touched 
by her passionate sorrow though all mundane 


224 


UNCLE PHIL. 


things seemed to him trivial, but he was aware that 
she could not see things as he saw them. And who 
does not know that the cruel paths of earthly love 
may lead the feet that tread them to the ivory gates 
of Heaven, and that nothing can happen not per- 
mitted by God? Still her grief troubled him. 

^^Reflect, dear child,” he persisted gently, ^^that in 
the natural order of events the direst misery of this 
life is only transitory, and the sanctified end must 
be wrought by sanctified means. And is there no 
happiness for you in the thought that you were im- 
peratively called by our Heavenly Father to be one 
of his ministering angels? And you may be very 
sure that when that Great Day shall come when we 
must all plead for mercy it is not then that a life 
of pure happiness, were pure happiness an earthly 
possibility, would count for much. Would it not 
count infinitely more to be able to say, I have been 
faithful to the work put to my hands? 

^^Suffering, dear child, is coeval with Adam^ And 
though we cannot fathom why, yet it must be sub- 
serving of useful and intelligent ends. And, after 
all, when we have climbed the Mountain of Expi- 
ation what does it matter how often our foreheads 
have been touched by the scourge of the Purifying 
Angel, and often in mercy. Therefore, my dear 
child, I earnestly counsel you to be patient. And I 
implore you do not try to bear your troubles alone 
task too hard for any onej but come to the foot 


UNCLE PHIL. 


225 


of the cross, there you will be sustained and com- 
forted — I know not how, or in what way, but by the 
authority of the Sacred Word I can promise you 
effectual help.” 

The Bishop had raised his head — his face glowed, 
and the pure light gleaming in his eyes seemed scin- 
tillations from the pure world he was now so near. 

Gerry was deeply moved, and her answer touch- 
ing in its humility. 

“I thank you, father, for your kindness, and if I 
could I would profit by your admonitions, but my 
nature is so faulty that I cannot recognize God^s 
hand in man^s cruelty. And if there is no future 
beyond the stars for passionate earthly love, then 
indeed, it were better that some of us had never 
been born.” 


226 


UNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE OLD LOVER EN SCENE. 

“There be good fellows in the world, 

An’ a man could light on them.” 

Almost without warning pealed the alarm for the 
renewal of hostilities — the Federal gunboats had 
passed the batteries at Vicksburg, heretofore styled 
the Gibraltar of the West. There were no more 
outings now, every man must be at his post. 

The Federal fleet opened its Are upon the works 
of Grand Gulf, Colonel Wade replying with his 
mortars until killed at his guns. This popular offi- 
cer was brought to the Port Gibson cemetery for 
interment. It was a sad sight to see following the 
hearse the led horse with the empty saddle and the 
boots the dead officer would need nevermore. 

On the next day began the land flghting for the 
possession of Vicksburg (^^We have come to knock 
at the back door,” facetiously remarked Colonel 
Johnston, of Major-General Grant’s staff) ; and all 
that long May day was passed by Gerry in the hos- 
pital where the wounded men were brought from 
the field of battle, wounded in every imaginable 
fashion, from the little round hole — not so bad to 
look at — which soldiers know so well. No surgeon’s 


UNCLE PHIL. 


227 


sentence is needed to tell them that the man will 
never march again in this world. And how sicken- 
ing are those ugly hurts, rent and jagged by the 
canister. 

About sundown an ambulance was sent by Ham- 
ilton for Gerry’s removal. At the suspension bridge 
spanning the Bayou Pierre her progress was almost 
^barred by the crowd of non-combatants hurrying 
across, volubly announcing their patriotism and 
their intention to stay in the Confederacy so long 
as there was an inch of it left. 

The officer, whose duty it was to burn the bridge 
to retard the enemy, was loudly berating them, ac- 
cusing the men of cow^ardice for not being in arms. 
^^And so long as you don’t fight,” he cried hotly, ‘fit 
makes no difference where you are, whether in the 
Confederacy or in hell!” Seeing Gerry, whom he 
knew by sight, his angry manner changed to polite 
consideration. “Here, madam, this way, pass 
right over.” Then he ordered a squad of soldiers he 
had with him to form into line and “Keep these peo- 
ple back with your bayonets.” A barrel of turpen- 
tine had been placed on the bridge and, dipping 
into it with a pitcher, the woodwork was soon 
drenched with the infiammable fiuid, and Gerry was 
scarcely over when a match was applied and a 
bright light briefiy illuminated the gathering twi- 
light. 

On the third day afterward, Gerry in her some- 


22S 


UNCLE PHIL. 


what roundabout journey came across the Sixth 
Eegiment of Missouri Infantry when they were tak- 
ing their ten minutes’ halt. This regiment had 
been taken out of the trenches at Grand Gulf, and 
double-quicked eight miles and precipitated into 
the battle before Port Gibson, and were now the 
rear-guard of the Confederate army in full retreat. 
With little rest and little food this fatiguing duty 
taxed to the utmost their courage and physical en- 
durance. At the welcome halt of ten minutes every 
two hours down they would drop, right where they 
stood, not to lose an instant of the much needed 
rest. A mounted courier had just come up and was 
reading aloud an army despatch which claimed a 
brilliant victory for the Southern forces in Virginia. 
The reading was listened to in silence — these old 
soldiers had grown distrustful of the brilliant vic- 
tories claimed at opportune times — until the men- 
tion was made that Stonewall Jackson had lost an 
arm. wish to Heaven,” said one of the weary 
soldiers, slowly raising his head, “that they would 
send that arm here to take command of us.” It sel- 
dom falls to the lot of an officer to be as universally 
disbelieved in as was Pemberton. In the awful 
siege of Vicksburg, so soon to follow, this gallant 
regiment lost its gallant Colonel, Eugene Erwin, 
and so many of its members that its organization 
was lost and never restored. 

Owing to the great number of crossroads Gerry 


UNCLE PHIL. 


229 


frequently found herself entangled with portions of 
the retreating army. Her ambulance had been 
given to the use of the disabled soldiers and nothing 
better could be found for her to ride than an anti- 
quated mustang pony, and Uncle Phil grumbled 
audibly at the discomfort and disgrace of being 
mounted on a mule. ^‘Not fitten for no gempleman’s 
sarvant to ride.” This was true — but the poor mule 
also had its side of the question; its numerous 
years, conjoined with an intimate acquaintance 
with the seamy side of life, would seem to render its 
own hardship — which it bore so patiently — greater 
than the hardshii) imposed on Uncle Phil. 

These chance meetings were not unpleasant to 
Gerry. She always had a friendly word to give in 
lack of more substantial benefits, and for the sol- 
diers was reserved that charming smile which so 
seldom relieved her features from their habitual 
gloom. 

One day it was a cavalry regiment she got in the 
thick of, and she listened with sympathetic inter- 
est to the statements of their affairs. ^^Here we are, 
and have been in the saddle for twenty-four hours, 
and it is hard to say which are the worse off, we or 
our horses. What sort of a fight could we make 
now, empty as gourds? I don’t believe I have 
strength enough left to pull my saber out of the 
scabbard.” But he had, for at that moment^ as if 


230 


UNCLE PHIL. 


by magic, the surrounding country became blue, 
and swords began their furious work. 

Taken by surprise, Gerry was bewildered, but in- 
stinctively she drew rein, and sat still. In a mo- 
ment a voice she would recognize anywhere, and 
the voice she had not heard for so long, rang out in 
clear imperious tones, ^^Company F, form round the 
lady and her attendant.” 

Safe within this living rampart Gerry was con- 
fined until the skirmish was over. Its duration 
was short, the hilly surface of the grounds and the 
thick brushwood favored the escape of the tired 
men on the tired horses. Then again Gerry heard 
that voice, which always had the power to stir her 
being to its deepest depths, giving the order, ^^Com- 
pany F will file off quietly by twos and rejoin 
its regiment.” 

Only a few moments were consumed in the ex- 
ecution of this order; then Gerry knew that Paul 
Smith stood beside her; one glance revealing how 
set and stern his features were — her heart grew cold 
and she dropped from the saddle as one dead. 
Smith caught her in his arms, his features quivering 
strangely, and like a miser who had recovered long- 
lost gold he pressed her to his heart, murmuring 
passionate words of endearment — hungrily he gazed 
on the sweet pale lips he might not kiss, it would 
bring her dishonor, she was another man^s wife. 

The f^ipt was a long one, yet how brief to him 


UNCLE PHIL. 


m 

seemed the moments he was thus privileged to hold 
her. Her consciousness returned, yet for an in- 
stant she lay quite still in his arms, her eyes closed. 
^^Oh, let me die now,” she prayed silently — a tear 
escaped from the closed eyelids and trickled down 
her cheek. 

‘^This is more than mortal man can endure,” said 
Smith, laying her down quickly on the soft grass. 
This action brought a faint glow to her cheeks. ^^He 
despises me,” she thought, her wounded womanhood 
receiving a sharp blow. She attempted to rise but 
the effort was ineffectual. 

^^Kemain quiet ; you will be stronger presently,” 
said Smith, but he did not offer her any assistance. 

For shame’s sake Gerry repressed her tears, and 
by a strong effort she sat up and declared herself 
recovered. 

Where was Uncle Phil all this time? Screaming 
with terror when he saw Gerry faint he had scram- 
bled down from his mule with such haste as he 
could make, being impeded by rheumatic difficul- 
ties, but witnessing the part taken by Smith, deli- 
cacy of feeling kept him slightly in the background 
an anxious looker-on ; but he could now restrain him- 
self no longer, and making a rush fell on his knees at 
Gerry’s feet, grasping her dress and sobbing like a 
child, exclaiming in broken tones : 

^^Blessed be de good Marster in Heabin, my po’, 
precious, sweet babby, dat y’u is alive! — an’ itser 


UNCLE PHIL. 


^3^ 

mussy dat any body iser live wid all dem weepins 
cuttin^ an’ slashin’ all er-roun’ eber’ wbar.” 

Smith’s friendly glance rested on the old man 
while shaking hands with him. ^^Step aside, please, 
Uncle Phil, I wish to say a few words to your young 
lady. She is quite herself now.” 

Obediently Uncle Phil withdrew and getting out 
of sight behind a tree, concluded to improve the 
time by devoting it to prayer. What matters words 
to the Pure Intelligence? No matter what they are 
or if none at all, if the heart is only right its peti- 
tions will never be denied, and be sure Uncle Phil 
prayed right from his heart. ^^Oh, blessed Marster 
in Heabin! hear ole Uncle Phil dis time, y’u knows 
y’use’f dat he don’t pester y’u often, but please, good 
Lordy ! take it all outen on dis ole no-count nigger, 
but spar’ dat chile. She is one ob de Southamptons, 
an’ ’tain’t fa’r fer her ter be ’dieted.” 

Left alone with Smith, Gerry’s whole body quiv- 
ered like an aspen leaf. What had he to say to her? 
AVhat could she say to him? She had no strength of 
her own, but as an inspiration it came to her, that 
she must look to God for help, and mutely she 
prayed. 

At last Smith spoke — he saw how she was suffer- 
ing — and he was tortured — and the interview must 
be got over ; his tones were husky — utterance gave 
him pain. “Gerry, I wish that I could say I had 
loved you only as a woman, but it was worship ! and 


tlNCLE PHIL. 


233 


standing here remembering there was no one but 
myself to blame, and that in my blinded folly I 
brought a grief upon myself that I wonder how I 
lire. It seems to me that at times evil spirits are 
given power over us to work our ruin. I cannot ask 
you to pardon me — to think kindly of me ; but I did 
love you so ! do love you so ! that I dare not look 
longer upon you.” 

Gerry looked up quickly, her face flushing — he 
did not then think meanly of her ; and after this as- 
surance life would be less hard — and, woman-like, 
she could repress her own agony to comfort him. 

‘Taul,” she said, ^flt was all my fault. Your 
words were few, and my childish understanding 
could not guess the ardor of your devotion which, 
I feared, w^as only a passing fancy. My stepmother 
said so, and when she said that you had been only 
amusing yourself at my expense that made me fran- 
tic. But why dwell on that which followed? We 
are now separated by a gulf which neither you nor 
I can pass. There is nothing but to say farewell, 
and each of us to walk our appointed way. And, 
God forgive me ! but I cannot wish you the happi- 
ness which would come in forgetfulness of me. Let 
me go now, please. You are a man and strong, and 
I am a poor, broken-hearted woman and must flee 
the temptation — almost the irresistible temptation, 
to ask that I may stay with you.” 

‘Wou are right,” he answered. must consider 


2S4: 


UNCLE PHIL. 


you, and will at once prepare a flag of truce to get 
you to” — he could not say your husband — ^Vhere 
I hope you may be safe. Sit down, my own,” she 
remembered long afterward how carefully he ar- 
ranged his cape and how tenderly he seated her 
upon it. ‘^1 wish now to speak to Uncle Phil.” 

He found that aged colored person, his orisons 
concluded, all huddled together, his chin resting on 
his up-drawn knees. The old do not shed tears with 
facility, but his features were twisting into divers 
contortions expressive of great grief. With' an im- 
pulse, resulting from a life-habit of extreme polite- 
ness, he was rising to stand respectfully. 

^T^eep your seat. Uncle Phil,” said Smith sitting 
down beside him. ‘T need not ask you to take as 
good care of your young lady as you can, and to 
procure for her such comforts as are attainable, but 
you may need means. Take this,” he said, placing 
a roll of notes into Uncle PhiPs hand. 

That exemplary person was fairly galvanized into 
action, springing up with the elasticity of youth. 
Money only flgured in the storehouse of his memory 
among other past delights. 

“Good Gawd A’mighty !” he burst out emitting a 
chuckle. “Oh, my blessed Marster in Heabin !” But 
he immediately grew solemn and sad, and made an- 
swer, respectful but firm. “No, I carn’t take cha’ge 
ob it. We ain’t never bin starbed ter death yit, do 
we ain’t been libin on no nick-nacks, an’ ter speak 


UNCLE PHIL. 


m 


squar’ly, I think it would be onbecomin’ in me an’ 
Miss Gerry ter be libin on y’u money. But ef y’u 
ain’t got no dejections I would like jes ter count it 
ober ter sorter ’member me of ole times when nutb- 
in’ was skase.” Almost lovingly Uncle Phil feasted 
bis eyes on the greenbacks, which he then, with ten- 
der fingers, formed into a roll, and slowly, and, in 
truth, grudgingly, handed back to the owner, but he 
bravely said, “No, Marse Paul, me an’ Miss Gerry 
can’t take none ob y’u small change — her pap 
wouldn’t like it. But ef y’u wus ter git er poun’ ob 
coffee fer Miss Gerry, an’ er pa’r ob butes fer me, I 
wouldn’t feel called on ter ree-cline one nor de 
Oder.” 

The arrangements were soon made — fortunately 
Smith had it in his power to gratify Uncle Phil 
about the boots and the coffee — and his own orderly, 
with a small guard, was detailed to be the bearer of 
the all-protecting white symbol. 

Smith was a self-contained man, rarely showing 
outward sign of his emotions, yet his face was white 
with pain when he faced Gerry to speak farewell. 
He clasped her hand, his words coming slowly — he 
never had many at command, and now they almost 
refused to come at all : “Good-bye, Gerry — perhaps 
I may never look on your sweet face again — but God 
bless you forever and forever.” 

“True, Paul,” she answered, fearlessly raising her 
clear eyes to his, “we may perhaps on this earth 


m 


UNCLE PHIL. 


not meet again, and let us now understand each 
other — we never did. I wish to tell you that no 
matter how much appearances are against me I 
am faithful to the vows pledged to you on the deck 
of the old McKim. I am not, except in name, nor 
ever shall be, death first ! any man’s wife but yours. 
Ah ! Paul,” she continued, keeping back a sob, “it 
is not always the love of pleasure that leads us into 
folly and into sin. Even stronger is the impulse 
that incites us to evil expecting good may come of 
it. When we are woefully beset, troubled on all 
sides, lost, and no light to guide, which path seems 
to be the path exacted by Heaven but the rough and 
briery one. But oh! it does seem so cruelly hard 
to sacrifice everything for a principle, although it 
may be a perverted one, without at least securing 
the reward of an approving conscience. I do not 
say it to excuse myself, but as some palliation of 
what I did in that dark time. I had promised my 
dead father — the dead!” there was infinite pathos 
in her appealing looks, “and I had always been all 
the world to him ! and when he lay dying who was 
there but me whom he could ask to care for that 
poor woman. I did not pause to refiect — but it did 
not matter — for what I promised him then I would, 
under the same pressure, promise him now, to con- 
sult her wishes in preference to my own. She was 
like wax in the hands of Hamilton — and I was 


tNCLE PHIL. 


forced to be wax in hers. I could not help myself.” 

Smith broke out in fierce maledictions. 

“She is dead, Paul,” Gerry interposed gently, 
“and I forgave her. She died clinging to me. And 
is it not strange that my heart did not then leap 
from its place and burst? The sense of utter misery 
was powerless to confuse the strength of facts from 
which there were no evasion, no appeal — I had been 
deprived of everything, even self-respect. Oh, 
Paul ! Paul ! you cannot imagine what a degraded 
creature I feel myself to be; and what mean feel- 
ings of envy take possession of me whenever I am in 
the company of a good woman and her husband. 
And I am so curiously revolutionized. I who was 
brought up so widely removed from poverty and 
labor. I now never pass a one-room cottage in the 
late afternoon, when the sun is going down, that I 
do not wish it had been Heaven’s will that we two 
were living there together — you would then be com- 
ing home from your work, and I would be cooking 
your supper.” 

“Stop, Gerry,” commanded Smith, “I feel myself 
not better than a wild beast when compared with 
you. There are heights, lengths and depths in your 
heart it was never in me to even dream of. And per- 
haps heaven was only taking care of its own in sav- 
ing you from my rough keeping. I would only have 
marred your life. You are one of the few of God’s 
creatures fitted by nature for the crucial tests. You 


UNCLIE PHIL. 


^38 

have passed through the heated furnace and 
emerged pure. You have been weighed in the bal- 
ance and not found wanting, and therefore, by uni- 
versal acquiescence, pronounced good. I would 
rather be your slave than any other woman^s king. 

^^Eightfully you are mine; mine in spirit and in 
truth ! and I bless God for the knowledge. It will 
make me more contented. And I will try, with 
Heaven’s help, to be a better man. I have done 
very little of good in this world — always ill-tem- 
pered and selfish. But it is not too late to mend, 
and, Gerry, in the future should you ever hear any- 
thing creditable of me be sure that you are the cause 
of it.” He had been holding her hands in his; he 
gently presses them ; she feels the elastic quiver of 
repressed strength, and sees in his eyes the look of 
love far beyond words to express. ^‘Good-bye, dar- 
ling — I may not kiss you, yet God knows your 
sweet lips are mine ! Farewell, farewell !” 

Thus they parted. God’s ways are not our ways. 
Yet sometimes it is permitted us to see that He 
deals with His children in mercy; shutting out the 
eager feet from the flower-decked main underneath 
w’hich lies a deadly morass, and leading to safety 
through a briery path. 

The discipline was necessary for Paul Smith, to 
teach him lessons of patience, and of usefulness to 
his kind, and to bring him to his God. And to Gerry, 
it made of her a ministering angel. And it cannot 


UNCLE PHIL. 


S39 


be but those few years out of her young life dedi- 
cated to the cause of humanity were given in vain, 
or were a useless sacrifice, or without reward. Men 
died blessing her — wounded men prayed for her, 
and surely benedictions from hearts laden with 
gratitude must possess the prerogative of conferring 
blessings far beyond those usually allotted to mor- 
tals. 


240 


UNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTEK XIX. 

CARRYING THE DISPATCH. 

“Heaven is above all; there sits a judge 
No King can corrupt.” 

According to the Northern newspapers, the rebel 
General de Courcy who had acquired no little celeb- 
rity for the brilliancy and the audacity of his at- 
tacks, was massing a force for the purpose of “hit- 
ting^ out” somewhere. But the best of human wis- 
dom is frequently erroneous. At this time General 
de Courcy had no intention to strike anywhere, he 
was “only praying to be let alone” while engaged 
in collecting provisions to meet the pressing de- 
mands farther south. 

So far his most strenuous efforts had met with 
discouragements; the bacon and corn had not only 
been “hard to come by,” but it had been more diffi- 
cult still to find means of transportation. The posi- 
tion, however, was an advantageous one, and that 
he would not be allowed to occupy it in peace and 
quietude much longer he well knew, but it was im- 
portant to his cause to remain there so long as he 
could — ^but he “must not permit himself to be 
caught” — there was the rub. 

He sat alone in his tent gravely considering his 


UNCLE PHIL. 


241 


situation. His information was reliable as to the 
location and strength of the Federal detachments 
nearest to him, and his own force was not inconsid- 
erable. ‘‘They will not attempt,’’ he muttered, “to 
drive me back until reinforced from Nashville, 
which will be soon. And oh ! wouldn’t it be a thing 
divinely done,” he smiled grimly, “to find out posi- 
tively when that move will be made. But what 
would be the use of risking a messenger — ^this war 
has been going on so long that all sorts of dodges 
are as transparent as a woman’s veil.” 

General de Courcy was as little given as any offi- 
cer alive to the sparing of his soldiers, looking on 
them as he did, as mere machines for destruction 
and to be destroyed ; yet he was an able commander 
and knew his duty too well to risk even a single life 
in the face of certain failure. He shook his head, 
not seeing his way one inch about how to obtain the 
momentous intelligence. 

Suddenly his face brightens — he is not the first 
commander indebted to chance for important re- 
sults — and yet it was no more than the hearing in 
the distance a clear sweet voice singing : 

“And never another can ruffle it here, 

Like the lads of the snaffle, spur, and spear.” 

An idea fiashed across the mind of General de 
Courcy like an inspiration ; he rose quickly and sent 
an orderly to “fetch young Mr. Fane,” 


242 


UNCLE PHIL. 


Of all the dare-devils in the Army of the South, 
and their name was legion, Keggie Fane was the 
most splendidly reckless. At the word ^^Charge 
he was off like a fiery scorpion--no authority could 
keep him back — and in advance of his squadron, he 
would dash pell-mell in the midst of the enemy, and 
with his bright blade flashing he fought like a de- 
mon. And marvelous seemed his immunity from 
danger, men fell in heaps all around, and he es- 
caped scathless. 

General de Courcy loved him as the apple of 
his eye, and after every engagement never failed 
to reprove him for his rashness, and always ended 
his reproof by saying: “You ought to be at school, 
sir.” And so he ought to have been, he was only 
sixteen years of age. 

Very soon a slight stripling entered the Gener- 
al’s tent, saluted, and stood at attention. 

For a moment General de Courcy regarded him 
searchingly, taking in every detail of the boy’s ex- 
quisite beauty. The sun and wind, “those char- 
tered libertines,” had dealt kindly with the fairness 
and bloom of his complexion; his perfect features 
were delicate in their outlines, and his light chest- 
nut hair had been blown by the wind into a tangled 
mass of silky curls. With immutable composure 
he stood sustaining the piercing glances of his Gen- 
eral, who seemed in no hurry to speak; and when 
gt last he opened his mputb it was apparently to 


UNCLE PHIL. 


243 


give vent only to some irrelevant side issue, so little 
did his remark appear to bear upon the burning 
question that then absorbed his mind. ^^You are 
not a man.” 

The boy^s eyes twinkled as if some humorous 
reminiscence had been suggested. 

“Perhaps not, General ; still I think you must ad- 
mit that you have seen me when I was a pretty 
good imitation of one.” 

The General, declining to enter into explana- 
tions, said abruptly: 

“I want some one to go to Nashville.” 

“Meaning Reginald Fane?” asked the boy. 

A nod was the sole response. 

A look of decision beyond his years — lads were 
early trained in that rough warfaring period — 
came into young Fane’s eyes as he answered : 

“I am Southern born, and ready at any moment 
to give my life to my native land, but I w^ould pre- 
fer it to be on the battle-field, and, frankly. General 
de Courcy, I do not care to be a spy, and request to 
be excused from this particular duty. I have fol- 
low^ed you long, but here I draw bridle.” 

“Reggie,” said the General in his deep tones, “I 
do not ask you to take a step I would shrink from 
myself. Could I change places with you I would 
go unhesitatingly.” 

The boy thawed. 

“I beg your pardon. General/’ was the prompt 


244 


UNCLE PHIL. 


answer, ^^for being just a trifle obtuse; but I do not 
doubt that, if I live long enough, I will get over 
squeamishness. However, I am now quite willing 
to receive your instructions, and will carry them 
out to the best of my ability.” 

^^Eeggie,” said General de Courcy in tones he 
did not often employ in speaking to his subordi- 
nates, do not know how this war will end. 
ISeither do I know how right it was to bring it on, 
but I do know, that now we are in for it, doubts and 
regrets are out of place. We have drawn the 
sword, the scabbard is thrown away, and I would 
not spare my son! The mission I am going to 
send you on is one of extraordinary danger, re- 
quiring extraordinary address. Yet if you succeed 
in my design it will be of great beneflt to us.” 

He hesitated as if reluctant to explain his plans. 
^^Keggie, you will get to Nashville ; choose your own 
way. When you arrive there go at once to the resi- 
dence of Mrs. Thompson. She lives in Blank street. 
No. 137. This lady has a daughter. Miss Thompson, 
who will be willing on application to furnish you 
with all you may need of her own clothing.” Reg- 
gie started, and seemed inclined to bolt, but re- 
covered himself. ^Wou will then And out at what 
hotel General Thorne and his niece are stopping. 
Then, in the character of a young lady, establish 
yourself at the same hotel, plausibly; then make 
the acquaintance of the GeneraTs niece, casually, 


UNCLE PHIL. 


245 


and select a suitable time to communicate to her 
that you are sent from me, and that I wish timely 
warning when a force will be sent out from Nash- 
ville to operate against me.” 

‘^General de Courcy,” said the boy in amazement, 
if not in horror, ^^do you mean to say that the niece 
of General Thorne will be willing to furnish you 
with that information?” 

Imagine the feelings of a Greek professor when 
brought to book by a controverting freshman. In 
military affairs the pressure on private judgment 
is even greater than in universities. General de 
Courcy, however, only smiled indulgently, and an- 
swered : 

^‘This fratricidal war, my boy, is a horrid war, and 
while General Thorne’s niece has and will continue 
to aid us in any way in her power, it is likely, I 
may say absolutely sure, that General Thorne has 
a friend with us equally zealous to serve him.” 

Young Fane boyishly put two fingers to his lips 
and subduedly imitated a steam whistle. 

“Well, it really does appear,” he said, ^^that if 
both sides. North and South, were evened up, we 
would be where we were before the war — all at 
peace, and in brotherly love.” 

Whilst Keginald Fane did not like this expedition 
planned for him, he was not inexperienced in the 
masquerading part of it. In private theatricals he 
had impersonated lovely women with signal sue- 


246 


UNCLE PHIL. 


cess. But there non-success would not have en- 
tailed any very serious consequences. Failure 
here meant a shameful death. ^^Though,” reasoned 
the gallant boy, ^^if the risk must be encountered, 
why not I as well as another?’^ and he answered 
quite resignedly: 

^Well, General, I am good to try. When do you 
wish me to set out to make the acquaintance of the 
ladies, Thompson and General Thorne’s niece? But 
it really does look queer to me that you depend so 
much on women. Of their enthusiasm there can be 
no doubt, but in important matters, where men’s 
lives are at stake, I would prefer to chance the 
steadiness of a man.” 

‘^That’s because you are so young, Reggie, and 
have not yet learned that when a woman really is 
in earnest she is as true as steel and equal to any 
danger. The Southern women are terribly in earn- 
est ; but for them this war would have faded out in 
six months. I wish you to start at once, and, Reg- 
gie, I am imposing on you a great trust; there is 
more depending on your success than I can explain, 
and while I know you can be discreet beyond your 
years, and there is little I can advise, yet I would 
caution you about your deportment when at the 
hotel in Nashville. You must never forget yourself 
and sit down with your feet sprawling wide apart ; 
but you must keep them well together and hid under 
the folds of your gown. And above all, do not let 


tJNCLE PHIL. 


a spirit of mischief lead you into attempting flirta- 
tions with the Federal officers. Inevitably you must 
meet with them, but be reserved, and keep them all 
at a distance, like a modest, properly behaving 
young lady.” 

‘^Modest, properly behaving young ladies,” 
blurted out Keggie, ^^are not found at public hotels 
without a chaperon; I may be young, but I know 
that. And I know that appearances will be against 
me, and that I just will be obliged to conduct my- 
self with faultless discretion, otherwise my career 
wull be brief. But on this head you may rest easy. 
General; should any of the blue-coats fall victims 
to my charms it will be from pure cussedness. I am 
not going to encourage any of them. It would suit 
me to be treated with indifference bordering on 
contempt. Therefore, if you have nothing further 
to add give me my password and I will light out on 
my outing. My departure from camp must not be, 
I suppose, attended with flourish of trumpet or beat 
of drum. The sooner I am off the sooner I will re- 
turn — perhaps.” 

A word was whispered in his ear, he then sa- 
luted and stepped briskly out from, the GeneraFs 
tent, that officer looked after him wistfully, mut- 
tering under his breath : wish this cursed war 

at an end, and I don’t know that I am so overly par- 
ticular how it ends, but till the wind-up comes I 
must do my duty.” 


US 


UNCLE PHIL. 


He had chosen his envoy with rare sagacity. In 
times of war, particularly civil war, it is not un- 
common to see old heads on young shoulders, but 
it was something marvelous the dexterity with 
which Eeggie Fane managed his dangerous enter- 
prise. He got into Nashville “without a bobble,’^ 
and adroitly established himself at the Nashville 
House in the character of Miss Forney, a young 
lady who expected to meet her grandmother and 
was ineffably disconcerted at having arrived first. 
Words can hardly do justice to the beauty of his 
behavior — reserved even with ladies. And his timid- 
ity in receiving the courteous attentions of the 
numerous U. S. officers who thronged the hotel was 
touching. He showed no anxiety to make the ac- 
quaintance of General Thorne’s niece while con- 
triving to bring it about in the most natural and 
casual manner imaginable, and the password whis- 
pered by his General placed them at once en rap- 
port. The niece readily promised her assistance. 
“I will give you the information,” she said, “when 
I can get it, but such things cannot be done in any 
set way — I must wait for the opportunity to serve.” 

To impose as little confidence as possible seemed 
to Master Reggie extreme wisdom, and he saw no 
object to gain by revealing his sex to Miss Thorne, 
who had no suspicion of the truth. Indeed, it 
seemed to her the very acme of good policy that the 
rebel General should choose a female for this deli- 


UNCLE PHIL. 


249 


cate service; and this female was so attractive of 
appearance, and gentle of manner, as to at once 
win the regard of General Thorne’s niece, and she 
said, with the kindest intention : “Miss Forney, as 
there will perhaps be a delay of some days, perhaps 
w^eeks, and you are all alone in this big caravan- 
sary, suppose you share my room.” 

Reggie Fane was completely taken aback, and 
for the first time in his life showed the white feath- 
er. He almost burst into tears, and stammered: 
“It would really give me great pleasure, but — I 
can’t!” 

Miss Thorne was surprised at this unusual exhi- 
bition, but seeing his genuine distress, said good- 
naturedly : 

“Oh! very well, just as you like — I thought 
it would be agreeable to you. But on no account 
must you shut yourself up in your room ; it would 
occasion comment — army people are so sociable. So 
you must come into the parlor occasionally, and 
take your meals in the dining room, and when 
thrown with the officers treat them civilly.” 

There never has been a time since the world was 
made when woman’s beauty and woman’s timidity 
did not appeal irresistibly to manly hearts; and 
the exigencies of war dispenses with much of 
the usual formalities which are expected to give 
place to snap and vim ; therefore. Miss Forney be- 
came at once an object of idolatry. Even the elderly 


^50 


TJNCLE PHIL. 


heart of General Thorne surrendered at discre- 
tion; and to his great delight the diffident young 
lady who drew hack in painful embarrassment 
from the proffered attentions of his juniors, evi- 
dently was more at her ease with him. 

To make a long story short, it soon became the 
ardent desire of this gallant upholder of his coun- 
try’s flag — he had grown old flghting for it, and 
still wore the sword he had used at San Juan de 
Ulloa, National Bridge, Contreras, Cerro Gordo, 
Molino del Hey, Churubusco, Chapultepec and the 
City of Mexico — to win this bashful, wayside flower 
for his own. Poor gentleman ! it seemed bitter irony 
that he who in his manly prime had never been so 
much as tapped on the shoulder by Dan Cupid 
should now bring his honest affection to where 
they had no business. But that did not affect the 
question or prevent General Thorne from really 
feeling very happy. So happy that he quite neg- 
lected the rebel General de Courcy, who was act- 
ively improving his golden opportunities and dis- 
patching many wagon loads southward of the 
staples of life — meat and corn. 

From his sweet dream General Thorne was 
aroused by a direct inquiry from the War Depart- 
ment ^Vhy he did not move against the rebel De 
Courcy?” Pulling himself together, he determined 
to strike soon and hard, and return quickly to his 
charmer. 


tJNGLE PHIL. 


251 


No matter what be the urgency of the need a 
corps d/armee cannot start on the spur of the mo- 
ment, for a distant delivery of battle. It must 
make ready, and in making ready General Thorne 
certainly displayed the most energetic activity. The 
bustle of preparation had hardly commenced when 
the GeneraPs niece handed a folded paper to Miss 
Forney and suggested its delivery to General de 
Courcy without loss of time. Keginald Fane felt a 
thrill of rapture. 

His days of enforced idleness had been days of 
moral and physical torture. He pined with the 
longing of a caged bird for the careless gayety of 
the rough camp he had left behind, and which to 
rejoin would be a work of difficulty, and must be 
begun at once. He displayed strategy of a high or- 
der in the manner by which he contrived to pass 
unnoticed from the crowded hotel. And, avoiding 
populous streets, he threaded his sinuous way until 
he saw not very far distant the blessed haven of 
Mrs. Thompson’s roof, under which the female 
dress, that not only hampered his limbs, but more, 
it sdemed to narrow his mental and moral nature, 
could be exchanged for his own glorious and much- 
prized masculine habiliments. Suddenly, as if 
dropped from the clouds. General Thorne stood be- 
fore him. Young Fane’s blue eyes gleamed with 
that wicked light first seen when Cain struck 
down his brother, and a sharp-edged stiletto flashed 


^52 


trNCLEJ MIL. 


in the sunlight. ^^Don’t try to stop me, or by God 
I’ll kill you !” he said in a hissing whisper. 

A braver or a readier man never lived than Gen- 
eral Thorne, but he staggered back, as if confronted 
by a horrible apparition conjured by some unholy 
incantation. ‘‘Oh, my Lord !” he groaned, as if he 
had received a mortal stab. His knees smote to- 
gether and his forehead was damp with an awful 
dew. “Oh, merciful heavens! what has happened 
to me?” A deep sob burst from him. His pious 
ejaculations seemed an exorcism, for the vision was 
no longer before him, it had disappeared. He 
moved on slowly. A depression as from beyond 
the grave completely mastered him as he recalled 
the past. “I have always been too forward in bat- 
tle, and the blood I have shed has come back in a 
frightful, a material form — it has assumed the form 
I love best — to torment me. Perhaps it foretells my 
approaching doom ; and some poor spirit has come 
back from its unquiet prison house to say to me: 
‘We shall meet again at Philippi!’ Lord help me! 
Lord help me!” Ill in body and mind he reached 
the hotel and retired to his chamber, nor was he 
again visible until the morning of the forward 
movement, then he asked his niece: “Where is 
Miss Forney?” 

“Lying down in her room suffering with a head- 
ache,” was the prompt answer. 

General Thorne felt an emotion of pleasure, 


tNCLE PHIL. 


25a 

doubtless she was distressed that he was starting 
for battle. 

“Could I not see her just for a moment — to take 
leave he asked, almost piteously. 

“Certainly not,” was the decided answer, “Miss 
Forney has nerves, and they are troubling her at 
present. She nearly snapped my head off a minute 
ago when I recommended a teaspoonful of vale- 
rian.” 

General Thorne was disappointed at not seeing 
Miss Forney, yet he felt some satisfaction; it was 
encouraging that her headache and his going away 
should be simultaneous. 

It is needless to say that Master Eeggie^s dis- 
appearance from General Thorne’s bewildered sight 
was owing to a rapid flank movement, skillfully ex- 
ecuted ; and that he lost no time in reaching cover 
and replacing his feminine garb with his own rough 
costume, which, thanks to Mrs. Thompson, had been 
washed and the crowning luxury of cleanliness 
was added to its suitability. 

The good fortune which seemed to have marked 
him for her own did not desert the young tactician 
until he had evaded the various lines of pickets and 
was well out on his way back to the uncomfortable 
camp to which he was attached. How sharply it 
contrasted with the well-appointed accommoda- 
tions for soldiers he had just left ; but, oh ! he did 
so yearn to see it again, and how glad and free he 


tiNCLEi Pmh. 


felt ! he could scarcely refrain from shouting with 
joy. He felt inclined to sing, and was just ready 
to uplift a merry stave. 

Young people will not see it; but their elders 
have seen it and know that from a cloudless sky 
a thunderbolt not infrequently strikes ; and that it 
is always better to wait for the coming of night be- 
fore praising a fair day. If he had not been so pre- 
occupied with his foolish joy he would have ob- 
served and avoided that group of Federal soldiers 
in front of him. Now it was too late; he was almost 
in their midst. They, too, were taken by surprise 
as they lounged on the grass — a party of scouts — 
each man holding his horse by the bridle-rein 
loosely, or not at all, so busy were they in eating 
a luncheon. 

Instinct is heaven born, and sometimes serves 
in better stead than the most elaborate process of 
ratiocination; and our youngster was excelled in 
cheek by no son of Adam. “My eyes ! my hearties !” 
he drawled, sauntering up, “are you game for a 
partner in your grub?’^ 

A beautiful thoroughbred, with its large and in- 
telligent eyes and upraised graceful head — its 
bridle-rein thrown over the protuberant part of the 
saddle-bow — stood near. “A nicish bit of horse- 
flesh ! Say, now, where did you come up with that 
Kentucky racer asked Reggie Fane, wriggling 


UNCLE PHIL. 


255 


along until at the horse’s side. Then quick as a 
flash he was in the saddle and galloping away. 

Fifteen or twenty guns were raised. 

^^Don’t shoot, men !” ordered the leader. ^^Mount 
and follow ; that booming water-course three miles 
ahead will stop him. The young scamp deserves 
a canter for his smartness.” 

It would be impossible to describe the boundless, 
rollicking, exhilarating joy that throbbed through 
and through every nerve and fiber of Eeggie’s body 
as he felt the bounding of the good horse under 
him. Even the importance of his mission and his 
peril could not destroy the exquisite pleasure of the 
rapid motion. 

Let no one deny the good-fellowship that not in- 
frequently exists between steed and rider. By some 
mysterious process, in a life-and-death crisis, the 
heart and mind of each are linked together in one 
common impulse, and Keggie felt sure that his 
silent friend was a friend indeed, and would neither 
falter nor fail. On, on he went, his pursuers hard 
behind, until not three hundred yards in his front 
his quick eye caught the glitter of a broad rolling 
stream, which like a band of silver lay across his 
way. He heard the peals of the loud laughter be- 
hind. ^^Caught in a trap,” he muttered . “But we’ll 
try for freedom! won’t we my beauty?” he apos- 
trophized the horse. Glancing backward, to cal- 
culate the distance separating him from that steady 


256 


UNCLE PHIL. 


galloping group, he gently drew rein, for he well 
knew that the horse, good as he was, required eas- 
ing before the terrific burst of speed to give him im- 
petus for that wide, wide leap. 

When he slackened his speed, his pursuers also 
slackened theirs, from a grim sense of humor, think- 
ing his capture distant only a short interval of time. 
Warily Eeggie scanned them from over his shoul- 
der while considering to an inch the decreasing 
margin of ground before him until, it was now or 
never. He tightened his grasp of the bridle, and, 
bringing into use every one of the many methods 
by which the practiced rider can assist a tired steed, 
he urged the good horse on to the leap. There was 
a dash like the rushing of a tornado, then rising 
high in the air, the swift waters flowing beneath 
them, the good horse sprang over, and they are 
landed on the safe ^ide with only one scant inch 
to spare. 

With shouts of rage the baffled pursuers quickly 
bring their guns to bear, and from the dark muz-' 
zles leap short jets of fiame, hurling out the dead- 
ly bullets. But without pause, that young-old boy 
took his horse in hand, and galloped on until he 
reached a safe eminence, then with his blue eyes 
sparkling with mirth, he turned square around in 
the saddle, and, raising his cap with a courteous 
movement, shouted : hope it is not farewell, gen- 

tlemen, only au revoirj” 


UNCLE PHIL. 


257 


He then jogged quietly on, with an easy stride, to 
which hill or dale never came amiss, and the miles 
were swallowed up like furlongs, until the familiar 
camp of his comrades came into sight. 

His impulse was to indulge in ^^the rebel-yell.” 
But age is a question of experience, not of time, 
and in consideration of what he had gone through 
he thought that manifestation too boyish, and in 
lieu of which he began singing: 

“We are the boys that can wrestle and ride, 

Empty a saddle, and empty a can; 

Keeping the rights of the Border side — 

Warden to warden, and man to man. 

Never another so welcome here 
As the lads of the snaffle, spur, and spear.” 

A soldier^s life is a hard one, but it has its com- 
pensations^ — ^^chaff” is one of the most common. 

In an incredibly short space of time Keggie was 
surrounded by the Gray Jackets, and if their wel- 
come was rough it was well meant. 

“Hip ! hip ! hurrah for Keggie !” 

“Reggie is my darling, the young chevalier !” 

“And Reggie it is, fit as a fiddle and fine as a 
star !” 

“Been a courting, now.” 

“Reggie, my dear, where did you get that sweet 
angel you are on?” 

“Keep hands off, every mother’s son of you,” re- 
quested the object of so much special attention, 


258 


UNCLE PHIL. 


‘^Can^t a body slip home to get clean clothes without 
all this pow-wow about it? As for the horse, I 
just found him all bridled and saddled, ready to 
my hand, and I — ^borrowed him.” 

^^Are you going to make him a present to the 
General?” asked several voices. 

“I rather guess not. But where is the General? 
I had better go and explain to him. I expect his 
ideas are that I had gone a glimmering. Answer 
some of you, one at a time.” 

^Well, at present he is in his tent sleeping — 
thank heaven! I think he has been hearing bad 
news, his temper has got to be so — fractious is no 
name for it. And, Reggie, my pet, I wouldn^t ad- 
vise you to be the man to wake him up ; for while 
he hasn’t asked for you, so far as I know, 
I’ve seen him look over to where you hang out more 
than once.” 

^^Oh! you dry up, Jim Bates, trying to unhitch 
a fellow’s nerves. I don’t believe he’ll kill me, and 
I can stand about as much scare as the next one. 
Here you, Pete Riley, hold this quadruped until I 
return.” 

He dismounted and made his way to the General’s 
tent, making no little fuss as he entered. The 
sleeping warrior awoke with a start, and, seeing 
Reggie, looked greatly relieved. 

am glad to see you back, my boy, I had about 
given you up as lost.” 


UNCLE PHIL. 


2S9 


^^No, General, I was not lost ! But I have not 
been exactly happy. However, here is your dis- 
patch.” He straightened up, saluted and pulled 
the important paper from his pocket — his fingers 
were stiffened and cramped from the rigid clasp 
he had been compelled to maintain on the bridle, 
and the dispatch dropped to the ground; and, not 
being in an envelape, spread wide open, the writ- 
ing plain for the reading. And as Keggie read a 
look of horror crept into his face, and he gazed as 
if a basilisk lay at his feet. 

^What are you gaping at?” demanded the Gen- 
eral. 

^^Gape yourself!” cried the incensed boy, ^^and 
see for yourself what comes of relying on a woman 
for important information. She couldn’t keep her 
mind away from her gimcracks long enough to 
see that she sent you the right paper. That thing !” 
with intense contempt, ‘fis a bill for a bonnet.” 

It read : 

“Herewith, I send your account for the bonnet 
purchased. Please remit by Tuesday.” 

“It’s all right, Reggie,” said the General, after a 
hasty glance. “Things sometimes mean more than 
appear on the surface. My experience is, you can 
trust a woman every time.” 

Reggie was glad to know that it was right; 
but he couldn’t see it, and began to entertain doubts 


260 


UNCLE PHIL. 


of his own ability to know what was what, particu- 
larly concerning nouns feminine. So he saluted 
and went out into the open air to look after and to 
make much of the valuable horse recently ac- 
quired. 

General de Courcy, understanding that the day 
set for payment of the female headwear referred to 
the day the Federal troops would march out of 
Nashville, sounded “boots and saddles,” and told 
the men to “hustle.” 

And General Thorne arrived in time only to find 
the fires extinguished, and the silence of a deserted 
camp. He went back to Nashville, and returned 
the report that the rebel General had gone south- 
ward after merely making a reconnoissance in 
force; and that he had found that part of the coun- 
try peaceable. It is a foregone conclusion that his 
inquiries concerning Miss Forney were prompt 
and anxious. 

“Oh !” replied his niece, indifferently, “Miss For- 
ney is not here. Owing to her grandmother’s ill- 
ness, or something equally unjustifiable, she was 
sent for. And so far as I know, like the fishes of 
the sea, and the birds of the air she has gone, leav- 
ing no trace behind her.” 

Poor old General Thorne! his grief was sincere 
and lasting. He had arrived at that time of life 
when if love’s light fail^ and the last rose wither, 


UNCLE PHIL. 


261 


the loss cannot be retrieved. Still it is better to have 
loved and lost than never to have loved at all. It 
had been a dream from Paradise. A phantom star 
that had streamed across his sky, just once — then 
fell to rise no more. 


262 


UNCLE PHIL. 


CHAPTER XX. 

MINE EYES HAVE SEEN THE GLORY OP THE LORD. 

“A good heart is the sun and the moon, or rather the sun. 
For it shines bright, and never changes.” 

wonder that you never married, Uncle Phil,’^ 
began Gerry one day, trying as she often did now 
to divert the old man from a settled melancholy, 
from which it was difficult to arouse him. 

^Well, honey, ter tell de truf,” was the modest 
answer, ^ffiar wus er dozen er mo’ young gals in 
Wirginny dat I ’lowed ter hab hopes — but I drawed 
off in time, Mar’age has its ’sponsibilities dat I 
dident keer ter tote. It’s wery ill-conwenient when 
er ’oman gits it inter her haid dat she is boun’ ter 
sh’ar y’u baid an’ bo’de. ’Sides in siety er mar’red 
man ain’t got no show erlong ’sides ob er man dat 
kin be kotched. It always suited me ter be run 
arter. An’,” he continued with the garrulity of 
age, “I didn’t hate mar’age none at dat time ter 
what I doos now. But,” hurriedly recollecting him- 
self, “Good Lordy! honey, I don’t mean ter hurt 
y’u feelin’s, chile. Y’u ain’t ter blame fer nuthin’. 
T’ings happen in dis world an’ no body knows how 
it wus done,” and trying to counsel resignation, “we 
hab jess got ter b’ar it — dat’s all.” 


tNCLE PHIL. 


S63 

And indeed it frequently does seem that the priv- 
ilege of free action belongs to no one; and that we 
are controlled by the inevitable fetters of circum- 
stances, and our paths limited by the regulations 
of the part allotted. 

Gerry^s fierce hatred of Hamilton had given place 
to a weary disgust. It did seem so bitter hard, 
she was so young, that the old, happy, beautiful 
life should be at an end forever. And sacred in 
the storehouse of her memory was the never-to-be- 
forgotten time when the strongest feelings of her 
being were stirred to their depths, and revealing in 
one supreme moment all the exquisite bliss of 
which her ardent nature was capable. 

A shadow darkened the opening of her tent, and 
Hamilton hesitatingly entered, accoutered for bat- 
tle. Of late he had shown deference to Gerry^s 
wishes and rarely intruded his presence upon her. 
Perhaps : 

“Consideration, like an angel, came. 

And whipped the offending Adam out of him.” 

His marriage with Geraldine Southampton, 
which had at first seemed to him a crowning victory, 
now confronted him as a crushing defeat. Con- 
science may for a time be kept at bay, but a day of 
reckoning will come, and the debt long incurred 
will have to be paid to the uttermost farthing. And 
the Eumenides had overtaken him. He paused. 


264 


UNCLE PHIL. 


glancing at Gerry. How well he remembered her 
gay, bright beauty which contrasted so strangely 
with the patient sorrow that now rarely left her 
face. He knew that his- own hand had wrought 
this change. He knew that he was accountable for 
this fearful work of destruction, and it was useless 
to plead that it was greater than he had intended. 

It had been long delayed, but he now felt him- 
self in the grasp of a remorse that would never 
leave him ; and of late he had been having premoni- 
tions, which he accepted as a certainty that the 
next battle he went into would be his last; and 
he had a longing to hear Gerry say that she forgave 
him. There had been a time when his cool, scien- 
tific atrocity seemed rather to belong to a fiend 
than the most depraved of men. But now he stood 
in her presence abashed. He had come to sue for 
her forgiveness. 

The inconsistencies of human nature have been 
wonderful in all ages. The wicked King John, 
when he saw that his end was approaching, gave 
especial directions that his body should be buried 
close to the grave of Saint Wulstan, who had great 
reputation for sanctity; perhaps thinking it would 
be some guarantee of safety in the next world. 

Hamilton spoke with timidity, his eyes cast 
down : 

‘T am ordered to the front, and it is not probable 
that I shall live to return — Geraldine.’^ 


UNCLE PHIL. 


^65 


She looked at him quickly, with a slight frown, 
the concluding vocative displeased her, and she 
replied with a mocking emphasis : 

‘‘Did not the Athenians wreath with laurel the 
sword that killed the Pisistratidae?” 

This man who had been so hard of heart, whose 
whole life had been a selfish seeking after his own 
ends, actually paled at her tones, and gaspingly 
he said: 

“Death is horrible!” 

“Not yours,” she answered, “and if I were a Ro- 
manist I would then burn six great candles to our 
Lady of Good Succor in thankfulness for my free- 
dom.” 

It is strange that now, when he was using his 
best effort to soften her, he should so go on from 
bad to worse — using the very words of all others 
the most calculated to inflame her. 

“I am asking your forgiveness. I am your hus- 
band.” 

An expression immediately settled on her face 
different from even intense anger in its absolute 
pitilessness. Her voice took on harsh, strange in- 
tonations, indescribable, as she asked : 

“Are you trying to exert the superiority of a 
man? And at this late day dare you claim the 
prerogative of a husband? I am a lonely woman 
with my affections warped, not crushed. What have 
you made my life but one desperate struggle — one 




UNCLE PHIL. 


long agony? Man, do you know what you have 
made me? I am abhorrent to myself. And there 
has always been the stinging sense of an injury un- 
requited — a dishonor unavenged — a debt uncan- 
celed ; and now you ask me to forgive you ; and you 
seek aid from me in this eleventh hour to quiet the 
tumult raging between a hardened heart and a re- 
morseful conscience. No! You have sown the 
dragon^s teeth and the armed warriors have risen 
to confront you — your eyes in death will look upon 
them. Go !” 

A sob escaped the wretched Hamilton as he 
turned hopelessly to depart. 

Uncle Phil, who, crouching in a corner, had 
been an unnoticed witness of this interview, now 
sprang forward, and, throwing himself on his 
knees before Gerry, pleaded with uplifted hands : 

“Oh! chile! chile! fer my sake — fer y^u sake — 
fer de honor ob de Southamptons ! say y’u fergive 
him ! Somethin’ in my ole heart seems ter say dat 
he is gwine ter his doom. Don’t lay up dat sin ter be 
arnswerd fer dat y’u ’fused fergiveness ter er man 
on his de’th-baid, so ter speak, an’ saunt his soul ter 
torment. Chile! chile! jes say y’u fergive him! jes 
dis onct!” 

Gerry looked down on the old man. He was now 
grasping her dress, his eyes streaming, and his lips 
continuing to move in wordless supplication. 

Miracles have not ceased, then occurred one as 


tNCLE MIL. 


^67 

tremendous as when, at the stroke of Moses, the liv- 
ing waters flowed from the dry rock, and approxi- 
mating in grandeur the divine words of forgiveness 
uttered on the cross by a dying Savior. 

Gerry placed her hands on the white head of 
Uncle Phil, and let them rest there, as if to gather 
strength to speak the words which almost seemed 
to take her life, though they were few: 

“I forgive you. Go in peace.” 

Hamilton quitted the tent with his head droop- 
ing. Three hours later he was killed in battle. 

Disaster after disaster followed the arms of the 
South until there came that awful defeat before 
Franklin. 

For some time past Gerry had been viewing with 
great concern the condition of Uncle Phil on whom 
privations and troubles had increased in an in- 
verse ratio with his ability to bear up under them. 
He was old and poor, but not alone. The child he 
had brought ^^bird aigs ter, an’ hilt er umereller 
ober,” was now a woman, and in her turn was 
ready to care for him. And she resolved that what- 
ever length of life should be allotted to him should 
be accomplished in such ease, and with such com- 
forts, as her best efforts would be able to procure 
for him. 

She had been tenderly brought up, and lovingly 
shielded from all rough contact; and it seemed an 
appalling thing to leave such helps as still sur- 


268 


UNCLE miU 


rounded her, and to step out in the cold, perhaps 
unfriendly world, and join the army of bread-win- 
ners battling for subsistence. But the strength of 
her purpose required neither concentration nor ar- 
rangement — many of her instincts seemed to have 
the basis of reason; and quickly she evolved her 
plans — all for the welfare of Uncle Phil. 

She wrote a letter, a kindly letter to Hamilton's 
mother, saying that her son had perished in battle 
fighting gallantly, and that his interment had taken 
place with due care, and that when his mother 
wished, his remains could be removed for burial 
with the others of his family. And for herself she 
renounced forever such pecuniary interest as 
might be hers at law. Then Gerry took an affec- 
tionate leave of the people with whom she had been 
living so long, and went away with Uncle Phil to 
Nashville, where she established herself not in a 
boarding house, but in a small cottage, and Uncle 
Phil fairly reveled in the management of their 
small housekeeping. 

Gerry’s beautiful hand-writing readily secured 
for her plenty of copying to do for the lawyers, and 
she not only earned sufficient for their absolute 
wants, but also to furnish Uncle Phil with such 
clothing as gladdened his heart. 

In his neat suit of black broadcloth, and with 
his gold-head cane he presented a venerable, and, 
as he fully persuaded himself, a dignified appear- 


UNCLE PHIL. 


369 


ance, as he passed and repassed the principal 
streets carrying a portfolio containing Gerry’s 
copyings. And on one day, when a large rocking- 
chair was bought for his own use, his joy knew no 
bounds. 

'‘But, Miss Gerry, honey, I ain’t sho’ dat it ain’t 
onproper fer me ter be settin’ in dat cheer. Now ef 
it wus er cricket it wouldn’t be onproper. In Wir- 
ginny, ole Miss she had crickets settin’ round mos’ 
eber wh’ar fer us sarvents ter set oursefs on.” 

"Good Gracious, Uncle Phil !” said Gerry with a 
smile, "how could you ever sit on a cricket?” 

"Dat’s so, chile; ’do I mought manage ter set 
down on it — but dar’s de gettin’ up, which would be 
diffikilt, wid my ole, stiff knees.” 

The rocking-chair proved of great comfort to him, 
and hour after hour he would sit rocking himself 
gently, crooning old-time hymns. 

To do one’s duty willingly and honestly in the 
state of life decreed by Providence always ensures 
content, and often happiness. And youth is such 
a beautiful, bountiful possession, with its elastic 
spirit and its inexhaustible resources. 

Gerry had lost the feeling of being over-weighted, 
and with no heart for the race of life, and she no 
longer felt inclined to challenge fate, and to im- 
peach its hard decrees. She was not living a life 
of idleness and frivolity, but a full, dignified life of 


^70 


UNCLE PHIL. 


practical usefulness. And Uncle Phil frequently 
declared : 

neber ’lowed ter be so happy ergin in dis 
world.” 

And so time went on until the whole country 
went wild over the peace that was made at the Ap- 
pomattox Court House. 

There came a day, when Gerry was sitting at her 
writing, when Uncle Phil rushed in. As usual, she 
looked up to give him the welcoming smile, and it 
was easy to see that something unusual had oc- 
curred. The old man’s appearance and demeanor 
indicated the pressure of some strong mental ex- 
citement. He grinned — his eyes rolled — and he 
took one or two dancing steps, chuckling like a boy. 

Gerry smiled pleasantly, expecting nothing more 
had happened than that he had found some ‘^high 
quality white gempleman,” who had listened with 
interest to his talk about Virginia, and perhaps the 
Southamptons. But he burst out, quivering with 
excitement : 

^^Oh ! Miss Gerry, chile, honey, don’t ’cite y’use’f. 
T’aint nuthin! it mought happen eber day — but 
I jess heard from Marse Paul — I seed him, an’ here 
he is.” 

This was all the preparation, but : 

“If he is sick with joy, he will 
Recover without a physician.” 

And the two persons, to whom their love had 


UNCLE PHIL. 


m 


caused so much grief, now stood face to face with 
no longer an unbridged gulf between them. Uncle 
Phil had withdrawn. And surely this was a meet- 
ing to be witnessed only by the angels. 

Sometimes fortune comes with both hands full; 
and it was not a modest tap, but a bold roulade on 
the knocker which drew Uncle Phil to the door, and 
in a few moments he reappeared, but not alone. 
And now, it was not the joy of earth, but the pure 
light of Heaven that glistened in his eyes, and his 
voice had taken on an intonation it never had be- 
fore. There was no preamble. 

^‘Miss Gerry, I have de honor ter denounce ter y’u 
de safe return ob our young gemplemens. Glory 
ter de LordT^ 

The young Southamptons had indeed returned. 
And the cup of happiness which had been so long 
in its plenishing now flowed over, and they drank 
of its sweet waters in silent thankfulness. 

An unusual sound drew their attention to Uncle 
Phil. He was standing, but unsteadily. His body 
swayed — his trembling hands were crossed on his 
breast, and the strangely musical voice was again 
heard : 

“Mine eyes hab seed de glory ob de Lord! Let 
thy sarvent now depart in peace.’’ 

It was Gerry who sprang and caught the falling 
body in her strong young arms, but the Messenger 
had been before her. Uncle Phil was dead. 






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